


A Common Guttersnipe

by betheflame



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Pepper Potts, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Model Steve Rogers, New York City, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Team as Family, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame/pseuds/betheflame
Summary: When Steve Rogers walks down the runway, Tony Stark stops breathing. Hemusthave this man as a client - he can make him the biggest movie star the world has ever known.And then they meet, and Steve opens his mouth, andthat accentnearly kills Tony. He makes Steve a bet - in six months, he can make even Anna Wintour think that Steve graduated from Phillips Exeter, and in return, Steve will let Tony sign him as a client.Steve takes the bet, thinking he has nothing to loose.And then he learns that the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain, that he could have danced all night, and that the world will still run without Tony Stark, but goddamn if he wants it to.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 202
Kudos: 188
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrecmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/gifts), [ashes0909](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/gifts), [FestiveFerret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/gifts), [Juulna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juulna/gifts), [Bill_Longbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/gifts), [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/gifts), [Neverever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverever/gifts).



> These brave folks bought me in MTH2019 back when the world was young. Thanks for your patience, pals. 
> 
> This is a re-telling of the Pygmalion story, which you may know from _She's All That_ , but it specifically follows the format of _My Fair Lady_. The songs will appear as dialogue, and I've gotten rid of Freddie Einsford-Hill (sorry if you miss him), but anyone knows the musical will recognize the beats, and the Easter Eggs I hide for you. 
> 
> Thanks to jeh for cheering, moody for the beta, and to Sabre for blowing my mind when she did a whiparoud for me to write this.

“Really, Ty?” Tony muttered under his breath. “The Tom Ford show? You’re late to the _Tom Ford_ show? I called in seven favors to get these tickets.”

He checked his watch for the ninth time in as many minutes and wondered when his on-again/off-again partner and all-the-time client, who had promised him that he would show up, would appear.

And then Tony caught a whiff of Valentino V cologne - that Ty claimed made him smell alluring and Tony thought made him smell like a gym sock - and knew the man himself had arrived. “Darling,” Ty began and Tony held up a hand.

“We have five minutes to get in there before Francesca gives our seats to a Hemsworth,” Tony replied and began to drag Ty through the crowd to their front row seats.

It was New York Fashion Week, one of the pinnacles of Tony’s year. While his business card read “Talent Acquisition”, his job was much more complex than that. CarbonWard was a global talent agency that he’d taken over from his father when he was 25 after Howard Stark’s untimely death. Tony’s mother had died giving birth to him so it had been the Stark men on their own while Howard started CarbonWard - named for Maria and himself - and grew it from a talent agent for novelists based in their garage to a global brand. While the world assumed Tony would eventually inherit, it was assumed Howard would be well into his dottage before he surrendered power.

A wildly mismanaged mental health problem ended that assumption on a quiet October morning seven years previous.

In the time between then and now, Tony had continued to grow CW beyond anyone’s imaginations. He’d known he was going to take over CW from the time he could form conscious thought. Howard had groomed him since the age of nine - taking him to board meetings and on international scouting trips. Tony loved CW, he really did. Every client was a mini-puzzle. What made them tick? Where did they fit best? And most importantly, how much money could they make him?

However, by the time he turned 12, he was bored. His father had signed a client that was a computer scientist and Tony learned coding at his side. Soon, Tony was coding, and creating algorithms, and convincing his father that most of their matching could be done by computer. Howard had resisted - insisting that the best part of scouting talent was the human element.

Tony didn’t believe the human element was anything to write home about.

If humans were anything like Tony’s classmates, Howard could take humans and shove them off a bridge. Humans belittled him, humans made him feel silly for building robots, humans were… He’d much rather spend his time creating worlds for himself. So he simply bided his time and built JARVIS in secret.

Named for Howard’s personal assistant until Tony was 10, JARVIS was an AI who could interpret data on every person alive faster than Tony could ever dream. When Howard died and Tony took over, Tony fired around 2,000 employees and replaced them all with JARVIS. To those people and others, he was a monster. His innovations made it nearly impossible to compete with him. His clientele were almost always given first preference to anything they desired because everyone knew Tony’s standards were so high. He’d taken unbridled capitalism to an extreme, activists cried out, and Tony simply smiled and waved and had his PA donate more money anonymously. He didn’t need anyone to love him, after all.

His presence at New York Fashion Week, therefore, was multifaceted. As a talent scout for everything from PR firms to casting agencies, there was always up and coming talent to discover among the throngs of models and attendees. As someone who loved to track trends and forecast the future, fashion said more about society than people truly gave it credit for and he appreciated the sneak peek. But mostly, as a perpetually thirsty gay man, the eye candy was unbeatable.

He and Ty took their seats and Tony quietly grumbled that they ended up next to Sunset Bain, one of his least favorite humans. Sunset worked at a rival firm to CW and had once seduced Tony in an effort to perform corporate espionage. She’d gotten more than he wanted her to know, but, thankfully, she hadn’t hacked JARVIS’ source code

He was about to make small talk with Sunset because protocol and human behavior dictated it, when the lights dimmed. People applauded as the music started and the lights went up on the catwalk. Stunning human after stunning human strutted down the catwalk, showing off the best of what the house of Tom Ford had to offer that season.

 _Yikes_ , Tony thought, plaids are back. _I look horrible in plaid. Oh, but so are beards. Nice, I like a bit of beard burn._

He found himself lost in the rhythms of music and bodies until the final model. Tony knew the final outfit would be Tom’s pièce de résistance - his crowning achievement worn by the model Tom felt showed the piece the best. Tony frequently disagreed with his friend and client about whether or not the final model was the best.

Not this year.

The man was easily 6’3” and built like a brick shithouse met a Dorito. His blond hair was messy, as was his beard, and considering that he was walking down the runway in a three-piece suit tailored within an inch of its life but somehow also left completely disheveled, the look worked. Tony could imagine the man rolling out of bed and putting back on yesterday’s outfit, and knew that was exactly the point of the show.

 _Rode hard and put away handsome,_ Tony mused to himself as the show ended. He realized Ty had been jabbering to him for a few moments and he must have been ‘umm’ and ‘uhuh’-ing appropriately, because Ty did not seem to notice Tony’s preoccupation with Dirty Blond Dorito.

When the lights came back up and Sunset was clearly about to speak to him, Tony spoke quickly. “I have no idea who represents that last man, but I’m going to find him right now.”

Something flashed through Ty’s eyes. “Well, hurry back, darling. We have dinner reservations.”

Tony said something vaguely non-committal, knowing that if Tony blew him off, Ty would find someone to occupy both the table and his bed within swift course.

He wound his way through the crowd, and got to one of the show managers. “Franchesca, the tickets were amazing.”

“And you look perfect for the front row,” she responded, air kissing both his cheeks. “I just wish you would find a partner who photographs better. Tyberius either looks smarmy or constipated.”

Tony ignored her not-incorrect assessment. “The last guy.”

“Steve,” she supplied.

“Steve.” He rolled the name on his tongue. “I need to talk to him.”

“He’s got representation, Tony,” she replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Whoever it is, you know I’m better.”

“I’m quite fond of him,” she said, “and if he signs with you, I can’t afford him for the smaller shows I want him in.”

“I’ll match his comp rate now for you, and only for you, on six shows a year,” Tony responded immediately. He knew Frannie was playing a game, and she knew he knew. They both knew Tony would leave tonight with a new client, but he supposed she had the right to excise some terms.

“He’s got a photo call with Tom and Christian,” she said, naming another designer.

“Is he in that show, too?”

She shook her head. “Christian’s doing plus size wedding gowns tomorrow morning and he and Tom are doing a joint photo call with each of their showstopper models. Steve just hurried into one of Tom’s tuxes. They should be about an hour? Maybe two?”

 _Christ,_ Tony inwardly swore, _that means more time with Sunset._

“Are you at the Bulgari party later?”

“I can be,” he replied.

“I’ll send him to find you.” She had a smirk on her face that said she knew something Tony didn’t.

Tony didn’t like not knowing things.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“So many fucking things, Stark, your brain would melt. Now get out of here, I have bow ties to catalogue.”

Knowing when he was dismissed, Tony saluted and wandered towards where he’d left Ty and Sunset.

* * *

“If you liked ladies at all, you understand I would drug you to force you to marry me. You are that perfect, Rogers,” the model bride muttered under her breath as he helped her hold up her skirt to pee.

“I know, Cressida. You’ve told me before.” He bit back a grin. If he was into women, he probably would marry Cressida. They’d been recruited by Faces of the Future modeling agency at the same time and their profiles had risen commensurately. She’d become the face of Christian Siriano’s bridal line the month before, and had suggested Steve as her groom in her first year of shoots. He loved working with Cressida Brightman. They were both from New York - her from the Bronx and him from Brooklyn. She was crass and witty, along with warm. She was one of those humans that just made everyone around her feel better - unless you were an asshole, and then she let you know exactly what was what.

One of the union guys earlier in the day had grabbed her chest and she’d screamed that he was a “misogynistic termite who may have the longevity of a Twinkie, but not the welcome of one”.

“What did Frannie want with you?”

“Some scout is meeting me at the Bulgari party,” Steve said with a shrug. “She said she’d meet me at the door and introduce me to him. I’m supposed to put on Suit 47 before I show up.”

“Ooo,” she replied as she finished her business and they righted her dress. “Suit 47 is my favorite on you from this line.”

“It’s a fucking nightmare to get on,” Steve muttered and Cressida promised she’d help him into it. The pair headed back to the camera rig and acted as in love as humanly possible. He made dirty jokes to make her laugh and she whispered lovely things into his ear when he needed to look tender.

God, if only he was straight.

“Rogers, Brightman, you’re free to go,” the photographer signaled after about forty-five minutes. “We’ll see you both for the morning call at 5:45.”

They both groaned, but headed to the dressing area to change.

“Who the living fuck has a sunrise wedding anyway,” Cressida muttered. “Fucking youths with their jam jar bullshit, I bet you it’s those bougie motherfuckers taking over the boroughs.”

“God, you sound like Buck.”

“How is that handsome motherfucker?” She brightened. “Still treating Nat okay?”

“You think Natasha Romanov, NYPD detective, would let him get away with less than that?”

She snorted. “He’d walk on glass for her if she asked.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty gone on her.” He finished changing and then handed her the jacket he needed help getting on. “I better head to see what this bigwig wants.”

* * *

“Mr. Stark? I'm Steve Rogers. Frannie said you asked to see me?”

Tony stared up from his phone as his blood ran cold. Coming out of the mouth of Super Hot Steve was the most godawful accent Tony had heard in a minute. _Shit._

“I did,” Tony said, grinning wide. “I’m sure you know who I am.”

“I ain’t stupid,” Steve said and Tony could tell he was barely containing an eyeroll. _Oh, he’s got that Brooklyn fire, too._

“I was impressed with your carriage on stage.”

“Thanks.” The blond man clearly wasn’t sure why Tony was talking to him. However, in the hour that Tony had been waiting, he’d pulled up all of Steve’s records. High school drop out at 14, there was little record of him until he got scouted selling Christmas trees at a lot in Red Hook when he was 20. He’d been modeling with Faces for seven years and had rapidly risen up their ranks from catalogue shoots to runway. There was a note on his file that he wanted to move into commercials but that the agency was ‘hesitant’.

Tony understood why.

“You ever think about vocal coaching?”

“Why?” Steve asked. “I sound fine.”

“Yeah, you don’t,” Tony said calmly. “You sound like a walking stereotype.”

“I’m from Brooklyn, and I’m proud of it,” Steve retorted. “I ain’t gotta change how I talk just to look pretty.”

“But what if you wanted more?” Tony pressed. “If you were willing to do voice coaching and get your accent cleaned, I could make you a movie star.”

“I don’t wanna be a movie star, Mr. Stark,” Steve said. “I want to be a model.”

Every model Tony had ever met wanted to be a movie star.

“You can’t be serious,” Tony remarked.

“You don’t know me,” Steve said with a growl. “I am what I am and I’m not doing no fancy vocal shit to make me sound like I’m something I’m not. I don’t like bullies, Mr. Stark. Thanks anyway.”

He stalked off and Tony was baffled.

Insanely aroused.

But mostly baffled.

Who was this guy?

And how fast could he hire him?


	2. Chapter 2

Tony wandered back towards where he had left Ty and Sunset in a bit of a daze. He snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter on the way, and downed it in one gulp. He deposited the glass at the next waiter, and collected another glass. This one he held, knowing he’d need something to do with his hands once he reached his destination.

“Tony,” Sunset purred once he was within earshot. Tony fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Business finished?”

“Yes,” Tony said curtly.

“He said no,” Ty said slowly. “You offered to represent him and he said no.”

“Not exactly,” Tony said and filled them in on the conversation.

“He’s a fool if he keeps that accent,” Sunset responded blithely, and signaled to a passing waiter to bring her more champagne. “He’ll never do anything else than runway.”

“Editorial maybe,” Ty offered. “But Sunset is still right. He’s a fool, Tony, and you don’t dabble with fools.”

But I do dabble with people who are fools for reasons, and Steve Rogers has a reason. Tony said to himself. It had been eight minutes and forty-five seconds since Steve had stalked off, and Tony had twisted his brain a few hundred times since then. The set of the man’s jaw when he thought Tony was insulting Brooklyn, the way his shoulders squared off when he informed Tony he didn’t want to be a movie star, the glint of steel in his eyes; Steve Rogers had a reason he rejected Tony’s offer, and Tony needed to know what it was.

“Oh no,” Ty said, “I know that look.”

“What look?” Tony responded.

“The ‘There’s a Puzzle to Solve’ look,” Ty drawled. “He’s a nobody from Brooklyn, Anthony. Do not waste your time.”

“Besides, what can you do? Change how he talks?” Sunset offered. “You’re not a diction coach.”

“Actually,” Tony corrected her, “I am. It’s part of the full services we offer at CarbonWard. Howard had me train in accents and elocution when I was a Phillips. My British accent is a bit terrible, but I imitate most American ones perfectly.”

“So, I change my statement, but not my question,” Sunset responded. “What are you going to do?”

Tony caught Ty peering at him out of the corner of his eye. “What, Ty?”

“There’s no way you can do this if he’s as bad as you say,” Ty replied. “You’ve only ever worked with people who were perfectly adequate already. Taking someone who sounds like a caterwauling raccoon trapped in a cage -”

“That’s a bit rude, Tyberius,” Tony interjected. “It’s more like electrocution to my ears than a trapped animal.”

“- and getting him a main speaking role in a film? Absolutely not.”

One of the more annoying pieces of the dynamic between Tony and Ty, as far as Tony is concerned, was that Ty knew exactly how to goad him. They’d known each other for so long, through so many phases of their lives, that Ty knew just what buttons to hit to make Tony do something dumb.

Which is the only explanation for what flew out of his mouth.

“Care to place a wager on that?”

Ty’s eyes sparkled. “Always.”

“I bet you…” Tony cast his eyes about the room to waste some time. They landed on one of his clients, who he had most recently seen on the cover of _Vogue_. “I bet you that I can take Steve as my plus one to the Met Gala next year and convince Anna herself that Steve graduated from Phillips Exeter.”

Ty threw back his head and laughed. “Anna Wintour. One of the most astute women on the planet who only puts up with you because you somehow charmed her with Stark magic or something? You couldn’t do that in seventeen years, much less six months.”

“I can,” Tony said. The conviction that he could settled into his bones even as he spoke. “I absolutely can. If he says yes, I bet you that I can do it. If I can, you owe me your contact list.”

Sunset gasped. Ty didn’t work, he just knew people. He’d been holding that knowledge over Tony’s head for years. Sure, Tony knew most people who mattered, especially in Manhattan and in the entertainment world, Ty somehow knew everyone. He had sheikhs on speed dial. To have access to Ty’s list would change Tony’s business forever. And Ty would never agree.

“Done, since it’s preposterous you’ll do it anyway,” Ty said. Tony was shocked and fought not to show it. “And if I win, you marry me.”

“WHAT?” Tony spat out and burst into laughter. “You have got to be joking.”

“Mother is on me again to become respectable, and you’re the only one who will still let me live my life while putting on a show. Sunset certainly wouldn’t,” Ty replied. The woman herself shuddered.

“I have plans that do not include being shackled to either of you,” Sunset replied, and Tony found a chill going down his spine. He wasn’t entirely sure Sunset wasn’t evil.

“Fine,” Tony said. He ignored the voice in his head that said he was making a massive mistake, and stuck out his hand for Ty to shake. “You have a deal.”

* * *

“Good morning,” Cressida yawned in greeting. Their shoot that morning was outdoors, and the late September air was crisp. Her wild mane of hair was thrown in a bun on top of her head, and the only piece of makeup she wore was fake lashes.

“Too tired to take them off last night?” Steve asked as he offered her the cup of coffee he’d picked up on his way to Bryant Park.

“I think they used Gorilla Glue to get them on, and since they’d smack more on me this morning because why would we have a Latina model without fourteen foot eyelashes, I figured I’d leave them on, and make whoever we get today deal with it,” Cressida replied with a shrug. “What did the bigwig want? Another agent, I’m assuming.” She took a slow sip of her coffee. “Ahhh, another reason I need you to change your sexuality immediately. You order coffee perfectly.”

“Tony Stark,” Steve replied. Cressida spat out the sip she had just taken.

“You got headhunted by Tony Stark,” Cressida screeched. “Tony motherfucking Stark? Obviously you signed up.”

Steve snorted. “He wants me in movies. I ain’t got time for that.”

Cressida blinked at him a few times as she took more sips of her coffee. She had a look in her eyes that meant he knew not to speak. “For a smart man, you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Cress,” Steve said.

“Rogers! Get your ass over here!” A voice called from the other side of the park.

“Later,” Steve said, “when we’re pretending to be blissfully in love.”

“I’ll be the one with my tits up to my ears,” Cressida responded cheerfully. “Not that you know what to do with them.”

“I like beard burn too much,” Steve sassed back.

The morning went in stops and starts from there. They were modeling three looks that morning on the steps of the New York Public Library, and each required Cressida to have different hair styles. Steve’s suits changed, but the only real way his day changed was his level of comfort. The second suit was tailored so closely around his ass that if he walked too quickly, the pants would tear. They made small talk throughout the shoot, both with each other and with the rest of the crew. He didn’t know any of today’s makeup artists, but one of the hairstylists was someone he’d work with loads of times. Cressida tried to bring up Tony Stark a few times, but Steve had shut it down. He had no interest in continuing that conversation at all, much less in ear shot of everyone else.

Finally, after seven hours, it was over. Looking like he was a wide-eyed groom over Cressida really wasn’t hard. He did adore her; she reminded him of all the best parts of his two best friends, plus added sparkle that was all Cressida’s own. Bucky always told him that he could never be friends with anyone who didn’t bust his balls on occasion, and Cressida fell in that camp.

However, now the shoot was over, and he knew she had a baby shower to get to. He was ready to head back to his apartment and crawl into bed for a nap before meeting up with Bucky, Nat, Sam, and Clint later that night.

“Rogers.”

He was standing on the edge of the shoot area when the PA approached him.

Sally, Sarah, Starla… “Yeah, Stephanie?”

“Sophia, but great job trying,” she said with a grin. “A courier just biked this over.”

He took the envelope he was offered. “Sorry, Sophia.”

The girl waved her hand. “You meet ninety-five of us a day during this week. Thanks for even trying. I usually get ‘hey black girl’. Anyway, I’m working the Gucci show tomorrow, so I’ll see you there.”

Steve nodded as she turned on her heel and left. He tried so hard to treat everyone on set like they were important, because they were, but Fashion Week made it difficult with the sheer volume of new faces. He tore open the envelope.

_Steve -_

_Frannie is fucking protective of you, you know that? I offered my first born for your phone number, and she told me to fuck myself if I hadn’t gotten it already. Tracked you down through Tom’s staff, don’t get mad at any one._

_I’ve thought a lot about our interaction last night, and we got off on the wrong foot._

“No shit,” Steve muttered. “You insulted how I talk within a minute of meeting me.”

_I have an amended offer for you that I think will interest you. Meet me at 820 Fifth Avenue at 4pm. Frannie said you don’t have a show tonight. Tell Serget you’re there to see me and he’ll send you up. If 4pm can’t work, text me. 212-859-3328._

_TS_

Steve stared at the note for a full two minutes before processing what was in it. What did he have that this guy wanted so badly?

“Stevarino!” Cressida called from behind him, and he turned to see her emerge from the wardrobe tent de-brided. He must have had quite the look on his face because she immediately stepped into his space and grabbed the letter from his hands. Her eyes scanned it quickly, and then met his.

“You’re going,” she said firmly. “I don’t care if he called your mother a whore last night, you are going to Tony Stark’s apartment and you -”

“How do you know it’s his apartment?”

“Because I, unlike you, pay attention,” Cressida snapped. “Because I’m always one racist or one sizist away from losing my career, so I make sure I know who the power players are. Stark throws parties at his penthouse, but everyone knows he actually lives on the floor below, and that there are only six people who have access to that floor. So you’ll be headed to the penthouse, I’m sure. You’re gorgeous, Steve, and everyone loves working with you, and that’s how you’ve survived and thrived in this industry. The rest of us have to know our shit.”

“I don’t like politics,” Steve grumbled.

“And the rest of us don’t have that privilege,” Cressida said. “Look, we’ve been over this. I think you need to start playing the game more, and get over this ‘I will never deal with a bully’ thing you’ve been clinging to like it’s a fucking rosary.”

“You know why I have that policy,” Steve said.

“I do,” Cressida responded, “because I am your work wife, and I take that responsibility seriously.”

“Between you and Nat, I don’t even know why I bother to try to make my own choices,” Steve said sarcastically.

“We love you, too,” she replied sweetly. “Now, get your illegally perfect ass to Fifth Avenue, and text me every single detail later. I will need gossip to survive this heteronormative shit show.”

“It’s just a baby shower, Cress, and it’s for your sister.”

“You do not know enough straight women,” she said with a laugh, “for you to make that statement without any hint of irony. Text me.”

With that, she walked off down 42nd towards the subway. Steve took a deep breath, and checked his watch. He had about 3 and ½ hours until he needed to be at Stark’s. Enough time to get home, shower, and leave again, but fuck if he was showing up to a penthouse in sweatpants and one of Bucky’s hoodies that smelled vaguely like curry. He headed for the subway and prayed he wasn’t making the worst mistake of his life.

* * *

“I get that you don’t want to act,” Tony said once they were seated.

“I’m sorry, is that the zoo?” Steve asked, distracted by activity out the window.

Tony smiled. “It is! It’s actually why I bought this place.”

“Because you like observing creatures in cages?” Steve said with an edge to his tone.

Tony felt his blood boil a bit. “Because I know how they feel,” Tony snapped back. _Well, that was too much information._

Something happened on Steve’s face that Tony didn’t know how to classify. The other man was silent for a moment, and Tony had no idea how to follow up his incredible overshare. If Pepper was there, she’d probably tell him to offer tea, but he had already done that, and Steve had said no, so what was he supposed -

“Your note said you have an offer I’d be more interested in than acting,” Steve interrupted Tony’s thoughts.

Tony nodded eagerly. “I respect that you don’t want to act, I do. I don’t understand it at all, because I could probably get you in a few action movies, and a handful of romcoms within the year if you wanted, and if you work on camera the way you work on a runway, but whatever. It’s your life to blow. What I have on offer, though, is wider than just acting.”

Steve’s eyebrow raised. “I ain’t running for office.”

Tony snorted. “No, that’s not what I meant. I know you’re proud of your accent, but it is holding you back. Not just from acting, but from anything else after you finish your modeling career. I’m not telling you to lose it completely, I simply want to teach you how to turn it on and off.”

“Why?” Steve asked. “Why do I matter to you so much?”

Because I cannot marry Tyberius Stone, and agreeing to that portion of the bet was so fucking dumb I threw up seven times last night out of nerves, and then started to learn Finnish to have something to do.

Tony shrugged. “I see potential, it’s what I do, and I’m very, very good at it. You were barely doing runways last year, and now you’re headlining six shows at Fashion Week. You’ve got magic that makes people want to look at you, and that can make us both a lot of money. But I’ve seen too many people chewed up and spit out by this business, and I don’t like it.”

Steve was quiet, and indicated for Tony to continue.

“Unless you’ve sold your soul to a crossroads demon, your body will change, and modeling won’t work as a main source of income within about, say, five years. At 27, you’re scraping the upper end of runway work, so you need to get into print, which won’t be hard, but we have to make sure those contracts are solid. Faces is a fine organization, but you need independent representation because they’re still using you to keep the lights on.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m worth $14 billion, Steven, so no, I don’t need you at all,” Tony replied.

“Then why am I here?” Steve said.

“Because you’re basically the hottest man I’ve ever seen,” Tony blurted, “and I want to represent you. It’s that simple.”

Steve peered at Tony for a few moments. “My dad died before he hit 50, so I’m not sure how I’ll age, but he was a handsome motherfucker until he kicked the bucket, so I’m not worried about getting work with my face.”

Tony nodded. He expected as much. “Your current agent, have they gone over digital residual rights?”

Steve blinked twice, and Tony knew the answer. “No.”

“Because these companies make money on your face, they only own certain parts of your face. They own angles, or images that have been doctored. Each of your contracts are specific about it. In your early catalogue days, this didn’t matter because you were in L.L. Bean or whatever, and so you just needed to look manly and they didn’t care what your name was. Gucci cares what your name is if they want you to sell perfume. They care what your hair looks like on the page, and off. They care if you’re willing to be in commercials or just print. They care a lot more, and that means there’s a lot more room for negotiation. You can get residuals based on how many countries they use each of your photos in. Right now, your contract with Faces is that you get blanket percentages of all client work. That’s fine, that’s normal, that’s not how our contract would work.”

“How would ours work?”

“I don’t want anything past my flat fee of $50k a year,” Tony said, “but I personally guarantee you’ll make five times that if you come work with me, and that’s without ongoing residuals.”

“That’s a lot of fucking money,” Steve said.

“I know,” Tony replied. “I only have three stipulations to offering you the contract.”

“My voice,” Steve said.

“That’s one,” Tony said, “the other is that you live in one of my apartments for the first six months of the contract. You’ll be working an absolute insane amount of hours, and by living in one of the apartments here, you’ll have all your cleaning, laundry, and food prep taken care of. You’ll have full access to the gym, a concierge, and on-call doctor, and a car service. You’re going to put in the work, so I’m going to make sure you can. And finally, you have to come with me to the Met Gala in May.”

That was the kicker, Tony knew, the truly weird one. He offered apartments to some of his clients, the ones he knew would take off like rockets with his guidance. It would only help with Rogers, since their elocution work was going to be exceptionally laborious, but the Met Gala was out of left field.

“What’s the theme?”

“Saints and Sinners,” Tony replied. “I’ll provide your costume, obviously. I have a few designers working up mocks for me now.”

Steve got up from the couch he was sitting on and went to the window. “So let me get this straight. You’re offering me the deal of a fucking lifetime, and all I have to do is live somewhere new, have you teach me to sound fancy, and head to a party? How am I getting the fair end of the stick, here?”

Tony laughed. “Because you’re about to work your exceptionally perfect ass off, Mr. Rogers. None of what I just said is easy.”

Steve snorted. “You try living on $5 a day, and then talk to me about hard things. I think you’re nuts, and putting way too much stock in my mug, but it’s your money.”

“So you’ll take the deal?”

Steve turned from the window. “I may sound like a dock worker to you, Mr. Stark, but I know how to be a professional. You send me the contract, and I’ll talk to a lawyer, and then get back to you.”

Tony nodded, and stood. He stuck out his hand, in the hopes that Steve would shake it. When he felt the large, warm hand engulf his own, shivers ran down his spine. “Well, then, Mr. Rogers. I’ll be in touch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next time when we meet Pepper and Rhodey.


	3. Chapter 3

48 hours later, Tony had still not heard from Steve.

Normally, a client taking a few days - hell, even a week - wouldn’t bother him. But this wasn’t any ordinary client, and these weren’t ordinary terms.

 _Why the hell did I agree to marry Ty?_ Tony couldn’t figure out the exact answer to that question, which was driving him batty.

He climbed the steps of the Rhodes’ brownstone, and punched in his keycode for entry. After the seventh time he’d lost his entire set of keys, he’d paid for all the important buildings in his life to have keyless entry. He’d known Virginia Potts since they were both five years old. Their mothers were cousins, which made them second cousins, he supposed, but it never mattered. For all intents and purposes, she was his sister. He started calling her ‘Pepper’ in third grade, and the name had stuck.

_“They’re calling me Carrot Head,” Pepper sniffed into Tony’s shoulder._

_He clenched his fists, wanting to plant them directly into Pedro Alverez’s face. Instead, he took the rhetorical angle. “But that’s so dumb. Your hair does not look like carrots, it looks like…”_

_“It’s ugly,” she wailed._

_“It looks like peppers, the good kind, the ones Anna puts on our pizza. I like peppers, and I like you,” Tony said quickly and decisively. “Therefore, you are now Pepper.”_

_She pulled back from his shoulder and blinked away a few tears. “So I’m a spicy pepper.”_

_“You certainly are, Miss Potts,” Tony said with a grin._

There were not a lot of constants in his life, but Pepper was one. And when she met and fell for his college roommate, Tony could not have been happier.

Well, he could have been a lot happier if she’d agree to work for him because if he had to fire another assistant, he’d go mad. She calmly informed him every time he asked that she had no need to close her incredibly successful freelance editing business to keep his life in line. He’d offer her an astronomical amount of money, and then she’d pierce him with her gaze.

_“Anthony, I love you more than that money, and I know that scares you, and I don’t care. I am not working for you, I simply love you too much.”_

And he’d sheepishly apologize before changing the subject.

It was a nice little routine.

“Pep!?” He called as he entered the foyer. He toed off his shoes and put them in the special bucket designated for his belongings.

“She’s in the garden, Mr. Stark,” Amelia called from the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry, Amelia, for barging in. I didn’t realize it was one of your days,” Tony said, and followed the sound of her voice. He gave the older woman a kiss on the cheek, and then snatched a fingerfull of the dip she was making.

“First of all,” the housekeeper said with an arched eyebrow, “you haven’t kept track of my days for 10 years, so understand I do not expect you to start any time soon. Second of all, keep your fingers out of unfinished food! It’s like you were raised in a barn, and I know you were taught better than that.”

“He was,” Pepper affirmed from the doorway. “Anna did her best, Amelia, but you’ve met Tony.”

Tony grinned and batted his eyelashes in his most angelic impression. Amelia burst into laughter, as she always did when he made that face, and then pointed to the fridge. “There’s a finished batch in there.”

He kissed her cheek, and helped himself to the snacks in the fridge. Part of being family with Pepper for so long was that their houses were each other’s properties, too.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Tony?” Pepper asked. She moved around the kitchen with the grace of the dancer she had one day hoped to be. Pepper had actually been his first solo client until an injury ended her career.

“I had some time to kill between meetings,” Tony responded. And desperately needed a distraction from checking my inbox constantly. “I happened to be in the neighborhood and -”

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “You are literally never in this neighborhood. You come to Brooklyn only when I threaten to cut off access to your niece. Who is at school, by the way, so you cannot give me that you wanted to see her. Spill, Stark.”

He chewed his lip for a second. “I want the model and he’s been radio silent for two days,” he blurted out.

“The model you saw at the Tom Ford show?”

Tony nodded.

“The one you texted me a photo of and referred to as ‘a snack’?”

Tony sighed, and nodded once more.

“You hit on him?”

“Anthony,” Amelia said, “did you finally break up with Ty?” The glee in the woman’s voice was hard to hide.

“No,” Tony corrected, “I offered the model - who is named Steve, by the way - a contract and I haven’t heard from him since.”

Pepper peered at him. “There is something you’re not telling me.” As soon as the words left her mouth, her phone rang. “Oh, that’s Rhodey! Good, let’s get him on video and he’ll pry this out of you.”

Tony blanched, but schooled his face quickly. He had specifically come to see Pepper when Rhodey was out of the country, because he could sometimes hide things from her. He’d never, not since the literal second they met, been able to hide anything from James Rhodes.

Pepper grabbed her phone and sailed into the living room, where she patted the cushion next to her on the couch for Tony to take.

“Hi baby,” she greeted the face on the screen. Tony’s heart lurched a bit at the sight of love in his friend’s eyes. _Why did I say I’d marry Ty? He will never love me and I know it. Why did I do that?_

“Hi hon - oh! Hi, Tones!”

“Hi Sugarbear,” Tony grinned. “Miss me?”

“Like jock itch,” Rhodey replied. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this call with my wife?”

“Your wife asked the exact same question, in the exact same way,” Tony said, “which is freaky and you two should seek counseling.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, and Tony was sure Pepper was doing the same next to him. “Tony was about to tell me about the model he texted me about.”

“The one he wanted to munch on?”

“I’m right here,” Tony protested. “I referred to Steve Rogers as a ‘Grade A Snack’ in messages to Pepper because he is, and I do want to munch on him because I am a virle gay man-”

“Never use that word again,” Rhodey said.

“- but I also want to hire him because I’ve never seen anyone like him. I gave him a contract two days ago and nada since.”

“Two days? Tony, most of your clients take at least a week,” Pepper said. “Two days is nothing.”

“And since you have that policy of not sleeping with clients, I can’t imagine you’re anxious to get him on the rolls for that reason,” Rhodey piped in.

“Spill, Tony,” Pepper said.

Tony took a breath. “ImayhavemadeabetwithTyandit’soneIcan’tloose.”

“If I could get that again, but with punctuation,” Rhodey said.

“I made a bet with Ty about him, and I can’t lose the bet. I can’t.”

“What was the bet?” Pepper asked.

“If I can get Anna Wintour to believe that Steve went to Phillips at the Met Gala next year, he gives me his contact list.”

“Oh, damn, you’ve been after that for years,” Rhodey said. “Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re with him.”

“That is the only reason Tony’s with him,” Pepper corrected. “But if Ty’s willing to give that up, he must have asked for something ridiculous in return.” She gasped. “Don’t tell me you bet the company. Tony, you know-”

“I said I’d marry him.”

The room was silent, but heavy with it, like Tony had just said something earth shattering and Rhodey and Pepper were adjusting to a new reality.

“You said you’d do what?” Pepper repeated softly.

“I said I’d marry him,” Tony replied, and hung his head in his hands. “I know, I know, but now you see I can’t-”

“You agreed to marry _Tyberius Reginald Stone_ ,” Pepper repeated, her voice increasing in intensity with every word. “The boy who sold your sex tape, the man who showed up drunk to your father’s funeral, the man who opens his Tinder _while you are still in bed with him_ , you agreed to marry _Tyberius Stone_?!”

By the end of her line of questioning, her voice was loud and there was a crash in the kitchen. Tony winced, knowing that meant Amelia heard and had thoughts about it.

“Yes,” Tony croaked out. “Which is why I can’t lose.”

“Why in god’s name did you say yes in the FIRST PLACE?” Pepper yelled.

“Sweetheart, your blood pressure,” Rhodey said calmly from the screen. “Go talk to Amelia, please, and give me a minute with Tony.”

“No, I-”

“Virginia, please go do something before you need to wash your hands,” Rhodey said firmly, and Tony saw the understanding snap into Pepper’s features. After a long, hard, frustrating journey, Pepper had been diagnosed with OCD when she was pregnant with Kerrigan. Amelia was one of the coping strategies - if Pepper could turn over the house cleaning to someone she could trust to keep it to her standards, then she could usually keep her impulses in check. Amelia had become such a trusted member of the family, however, that sometimes it was easy to forget why they’d met her.

Tony knew Rhodey never forgot.

Pepper thrust the phone into Tony’s hands, and stalked out of the room muttering to herself. Tony met his friends’ eyes. “I was dumb, Rhodey.”

“Yes, yes you were,” Rhodey said, “but this one feels a bit… Ty? What if you don’t win? You can’t possibly go through with it.”

“No,” Tony said. “But I also know Ty and he’ll have the engagement announcement ready to go the minute Anna meets Steve, if Steve says yes to the whole project. Stopping him will be impossible.”

“Okay, let’s circle back to the word ‘project’ in a minute, but why marriage? Has he asked before?”

Tony nodded. “He asks a lot, actually. Well, that’s unfair. He tells me we should get married a lot, he’s never actually asked. He talks a lot about alliances and how good we’d look together on paper, and I think he wants to get into politics and he needs to look stable.”

“Tony,” Rhodey said softly, and let the word hang.

“He’s special, Rhodey, I know he is,” Tony offered. “The way he walks, the way he carries himself, his smile - I can stop working for the rest of my life if this man signs with me.”

“Why the bet, then?”

“He sounds like Central Casting called for a Goodfellas extra, but with extra marbles in his mouth.”

Rhodey snorted. “Yikes.”

“Maximum yikes,” Tony confirmed. “People think accents are sexy and mysterious, but that one doesn’t go with action heroes or romantic leads or anything else I have lined up for him.”

“How do you know he can act at all, even past the voice?”

It was Tony’s turn to snort. “Please, I helped Jonathan Bailey fuck a woman on camera with passion and dedication. That boy is so gay he actually makes me feel straight. I can do anything.”

Rhodey chuckled. “Pepper said he’s very convincing. Okay, fine, so you can do it. Why do you want to?”

Tony shrugged. “I’m bored.”

“You’re bored,” Rhodey repeated. “No, don’t buy it. When you’re bored, you buy yachts, or something, you don’t fuck with people’s lives.”

Tony didn’t know how to answer for a second, because the answer was embarrassingly closer to fucking with someone’s life than he wanted to admit. “I can help him, Rhodey. He’s perfect now, sure, but eventually keeping up that model body isn’t going to be possible, and we all know models are terrible at financial management because their contracts are shit. They’re signed before they’re anybody and then horrible to renegotiate. I can get him more.”

Rhodey shook his head. “Tony, you’re a good man, but not in this way, not usually. I’m just… Just be careful with him, okay?”

“Why are you defending him?”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Rhodey countered. Tony remained quiet, so Rhodey continued. “Whatever you do, Tony, don’t get your heart broken again.”

Tony bristled. How _dare_ Rhodey bring that up. That was years ago. “I’m not a child anymore, Rhodey,” Tony snapped. “I’m a professional, and the best in the world at this job, probably the galaxy if we’re honest, and I just want to do my job with a man who deserves my expertise. That. Is. All. Now, tell me all about how much you hate falafel for the nineteenth time, and I’ll get Pepper back in here because this subject is closed.”

Rhodey glared for a beat before sighing. “Fine. Whatever, I’m too tired to do this dance anyway. Listen, falafels are just fried delivery systems for tahini, which is soggy cucumber sauce, and it’s all gross. I eat it like the good diplomat I am, but this expectation I should like it because it’s good for me is frankly fucking insulting.”

Tony rose from the couch as Rhodey got going on his well-scripted rant against chickpeas, and went to find Pepper. She was out in the garden, and her head shot up as soon as she heard Rhodey’s voice.

“Babe, there’s so much protein,” she called towards the phone, and Tony bit back a grin. He passed the phone to Pep, kissed her check, and then went to find Amelia.

“Mrs. Stafford,” Tony called once he was back in the house.

“Up here, Mr. Stark!”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at her response. She knew he wanted something - he only called her Mrs. Stafford when he did - and she hated it. Just as much as he hated people he loved calling him Mr. Stark.

“Mrs. Stafford -”

“Is my dead mother-in-law to you, dear, so shall we start again?”

Tony found her remaking the bed in Kerrigan’s room. “I’m trying to be professional.”

Amelia snorted. “With me? Please. That ship sailed somewhere around New Year’s Eve of 2016. Shall I remind you of your activities that particular evening?”

Tony blanched. “No, Amelia, I think my memory is adequate.”

She chuckled. “I’m assuming that this formality nonsense is because you need me to cover the staff apartments again as well?”

Tony nodded. “Just one day a week. If my new hire signs the contract, I think he may need some transitional help.”

She paused her pillow fluffing to peer at him. “Unpack that.”

Amelia’s training and experience as a social worker was why he had hired her for Pepper in the first place. In the eight years since they’d all known each other, Tony had relied on her to provide housekeeping services in the staff apartments as well, but she also had an incredible sense of how to help some of his new clients adjust to their new lives. She provided a listening ear, for sure, but also pragmatic help.

“He’s single, so I think just one team of cleaners once a week is fine. I don’t imagine he’ll need help with groceries, because he’s been doing this professionally for a little while, but…”

“But you’re about to bounce his salary from four to seven figures,” Amelia said calmly. “And that’s not his world.”

“That is not his world,” Tony affirmed. “He shares a flat in Red Hook with his best friend and his best friend’s girlfriend, so I can’t imagine money is abundant for any of them.”

She was quiet for several minutes, and Tony began to fidget. Finally, she spoke. “Anthony, I am fifty-six years old, and you know my life. You know about Phillip, and Laura, and you know why I said ‘yes’ to this exceptionally unusual job. What I think would be best for all of us is if you could stop pretending you don’t know that you’re a good man.”

“God, not you, too,” Tony groaned. “I just got the therapeutic ninth degree from Colonel Rhodes, I don’t need it from you.”

“You need it from someone,” Amelia snapped. “Now that you’re picking up strays again.”

“He’s not a stray,” Tony corrected.

“No,” Amelia admitted, “I think he’s worse. I heard about that bet, Tony, which was stupid and you know it so I won’t go over that again. He’s not a stray, you’re right, he’s a project, and you better be careful because he’s also a human.”

“I’m paying you to keep him human, Meels,” Tony replied, lining his voice with iron.

She peered at him. “Just let me know when he moves in, Tony. I’ll take care of everything.”

He crossed the room quickly, kissed her cheek in thanks, and headed out the door. He tapped his watch twice. “J, any word?”

“Lots of words, sir, but none from Mr. Rogers.”

“Dammit. What is taking him so long?”

“As you did not program me with a mind reading code, I could not begin to venture a guess,” the AI replied.

“I’m going to sell you to Hammer, and you just watch how much you love working for that guy,” Tony replied.

“I am quaking in my motherboard, Sir.”

Tony tapped the watch again, sending JARVIS back to sleep. Mr. Rogers, it seemed, would remain a mystery for a while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Bailey is currently appearing as Anthony Bridgerton in _Bridgerton_ on Netflix and is -for the record - also a snack. He is also very proudly out, and has done a few interviews about how he felt being an out actor playing a Regency rake. 
> 
> Tune in next time to find out what Nat and Bucky think of Tony's offer. Cressida makes another grand appearance as well.


	4. Chapter 4

“Blair, do not put that in your mouth.”

“Shonda, stop hitting your sister.”

“Daddy, come play!”

“I’m telling you, Lupe is going all the way if he can just get a scout to come to a game.”

Steve smiled to himself as he sipped his water, and let the sounds of the neighborhood block party wave over him. With Fashion Week over, he was enjoying every single minute of wearing sweatpants and being draped into the glider swing that their building had in the front gate. The street in front of them was blocked to car traffic, and the whole block was out of their houses, or hanging out their windows to contribute to the chaos from their own homes. Various food smells wafted by him - the dishes being served in the block party potluck were as diverse as the block itself. Bushwick wasn’t the most diverse neighborhood in the world, but his area had people who were born on the block, people who emigrated from the Dominican Republic in the 1960s, refugees from Bosnia in the 1990s, and a host of other personalities that made Steve feel like he was living in the United Nations most days - except that no one wore suits.

He and Bucky were in the ‘born on the block’ category - they lived in the same apartment Steve had been born in, and Bucky’s ma lived two floors above them, the way she had their whole lives. Steve was slowly saving to buy the building, but he wanted to pay off all of Bucky’s medical bills first.

Which was proving challenging since the stubborn motherfucker wouldn’t take a dime from him.

“Stevie, you gonna put those muscles to work or are they just for show?”

Before Steve could respond to Bucky’s call, he heard Nat from behind him. “Oh, like you can talk, Jarhead. I had to help you put together the crib last night because the bolts were too tight.”

Steve snorted as he saw Bucky blush slightly. “I was distracted,” the man replied.

Now it was Nat’s turn to snort as she plopped onto the glider next to Steve. “Distracted by the Mets game.”

“Distracted by my exceptionally hot baby mama just home from her shift,” Bucky called back.

“Get a room,” Clint roared from the stoop opposite, and Sam and Darcy both started heckling the pair from their respective windows.

“We’re trying,” Nat hollered. She flipped Clint off as she continued. “Have you seen New York real estate?”

“Please just let me-” Steve said quietly.

“No, absolutely not,” Nat interrupted him. “We are not kicking you out of your home. I’m pregnant, not homebound. We can keep looking.”

Nat and Bucky had been together since Bucky had gotten home from Iraq. They had a meet ugly in the neighborhood laundry mat where Bucky accidentally stole Nat’s dryer, and a standoff that is now part of neighborhood legend ensued. Steve knew the minute he saw his best friend later that night that Bucky was gone.

Nat didn’t want to get married before she made detective, and she was diligently working her way up the ranks of the 99th precinct of the NYPD. Her mentor was a woman named Rosa who Steve liked a lot, because she was basically a size 8 version of Cressida, and had agreed with Nat’s decision.

And then the stick turned pink the day before her detective exam, and Nat and Bucky had to have some conversations.

Four months later, they’d decided on two things: they wanted to keep the baby, and Bucky would be the stay-at-home dad. Them moving into Nat’s place was a non-starter because it was basically a closet on the 5th floor of a building with no elevator. Steve had offered somewhere in the neighborhood of six hundred times to move so they could have his and Bucky’s place, but the pair had always refused. They didn’t want him to be homeless.

He thought of the conversation with Tony earlier that day, and knew that was the solution.

He just had to swallow nine tenths of his pride.

But for Buck, and Nat, and the baby? Why was he even hesitating?

“When’s Cressida getting here?” Nat asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

Steve shrugged. “She wasn’t sure when the shoot would end, and how long it would take to get here.”

“Where’s it again?”

“Hoboken.”

Nat shuddered. “We’ll see her in a few years.”

Steve laughed. “Our first check from Sirano cleared yesterday, so my guess is that she’ll hop an Uber. We have another obnoxious call time tomorrow morning, and I’ve told her to stay at Winnie’s.”

“Who’s staying at Ma’s?” Bucky asked. He’d left his position at the grill in front of Sam’s building, and was holding a heaving plate of food for the three of them. “The mofongo is fresh, so I’d start there.”

Steve happily dug in; with Fashion Week behind him, the exacting measurements of couture were not his problem for a few more months. All the shoots on his schedule were forgiving enough that he could fluctuate by a few ounces and he was taking advantage of the freedom.

“Cress,” Steve responded. “Which reminds me, I had a meeting last week and got a job offer. It’s kinda… unusual.”

“Did you finally get asked to do porn?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of moussaka.

“Your obsession with other people seeing my dick is troubling, Buck,” Steve responded.

“You look better than most of the gifs on Tumblr,” Nat contributed. Bucky coked his eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. “Only fucking you forever, calm down.”

“Not saying anything,” Bucky said. “Just need to know my competition.”

“None, baby,” Nat said, and the tone of sincerity in her voice made Steve’s heart clench.

“Not porn, but still a bit unusual, so want to run it by you two and Cress,” Steve said.

“Got it, just grab us when she’s here,” Nat said.

Steve nodded, and then changed the subject to the elaborate game of double dutch happening to their left.

* * *

“And he wants you to move in?”

Steve nodded at Cressida’s question. She was flipping through the contract that his agent and lawyers had already approved. Tony had texted on Friday and asked if Steve needed more time or any clarifying, and Steve said he’d have an answer for Tony by Monday.

“What’s your team say?” Nat asked.

“Everyone said I’d be an idiot to turn down Tony Stark,” Steve replied, and Cressida started laughing.

“You’d also be the first one to do it, I think,” Cressida said. At Bucky and Nat’s slightly confused looks, she elaborated. “Stark is exceptionally picky about who he works personally with these days. Most people who sign up with his agency are farmed to a staff member, and they still become insanely successful, but to get Stark’s golden touch? Our boy is destined for greatness.”

“He always was,” Bucky said immediately, and Steve was touched at the slight defensiveness in his voice.

“I don’t mean it like that, Barnes, stand down.” Cressida rolled her eyes. “I meant… listen, when Steve signs this, because you are going to sign it or I’ll chop off your balls for being an idiot, when he signs this… everything changes. We all have between now and the Met Gala, it sounds like, to get used to it, but everything changes.”

“Explain,” Nat said.

“He’s going to be the new It Boy,” Cressida replied. “He’ll get award buzz, and all the features he wants. Twitter and Tumblr accounts will be dedicated to him, he’ll have to go completely unlisted, he’ll… he’ll be famous, guys. That’s what Stark is putting on the table here. Steve is about to become a household name.”

“I do not want that,” Steve said firmly, but quietly.

Cressida turned to him. “Why?”

“Because I like my privacy.”

“Fair, who doesn’t, but think bigger,” Cressida said. “How many times have we gotten angry at how fashion directors talk about bodies? About how hard it is to get non-heterosexual rep in bridal shoots? About how exploitative modeling contracts are? About how animals on sets get treated better than most women? How many times?”

“Countless,” Steve admitted.

“Right, so when you’re a Twitter hashtag, hermano, you get to do something about it,” Cressida said matter-of-factly.

Steve chewed his bottom lip. He knew she was right, but… he got into modeling to pay off debt, help Bucky get a prosthetic that fits well, and make sure Winnie could actually retire. He did not get into modeling to change the world.

“You still get to be private,” Nat said. “We protect a lot of celebrities in the city, and you know that if papos come sniffing around the block, Mrs. Almeda will beat them with her broom and chase them off pretty quick.”

The group laughed at the image, and the truth behind it.

“Everyone in this room knows you’re going to sign this,” Cressida said. “You’re not a coward, and you’re the most strategic thinker I know. You probably have a signed copy of this on your laptop. So what do you need from us right now?”

Steve felt his mouth quirk into a smile. “Are you sure you’re not actually a mind reader?”

“For you, I seem to be,” Cressida responded.

Steve sighed deeply and ran his hands over his face a few times. “I’m pushing back on a few things in the contract. I want you all to be able to come to the apartment - right now it says no visitors, and I asked for seven exceptions.”

“Us, Ma, Sammy, Clint, and…”

“The baby,” Steve said.

“You mean Orville Archibald Barnes?” Bucky said.

“No, he means Sophia Angelica Romanov,” Nat sniped back.

“I swear to God, you’re getting twins because the universe does not want to hear this forever,” Cressida muttered.

“I appreciate you think we’re schlepping our kid to Manhattan before it’s six months old,” Bucky said with a laugh, “but thanks for the thought.”

Steve smiled. “All bases covered. I have some other stuff, mostly financial and how the pay is allocated, and if he agrees to them, then yes, I’m signing.”

“So we’re here…” Cressida prompted.

“To tell me I’m not nuts for wanting this,” Steve confessed. “It feels… selfish.”

“How?” Nat queired.

Steve shrugged. “I just… this is a lot of attention, I guess, and he saw me walk down a runway, and this is happening? I have a good career, and a good life, and to want more?”

“You have a good career for two more years, max,” Cressida said. “Stark wants to make sure you have a good career forever.”

“You have a good life because we’re in it,” Bucky continued, “and we’re not going anywhere.”

“And you should want more because you’ll do good with the more you get,” Nat finished.

When they said it so plainly, Steve wasn’t sure why he doubted them. He’d spent the first four days after the meeting with Tony in a bit of a daze, but he sent the contract to his lawyer and financial planner. Both of them had notes, but told him to take the offer. His lawyer helped him draft notices of termination for both his manager and his agent, and they were ready to go as soon as Stark counter-signed Steve’s signature.

But the final push had eluded him, and he hadn’t been sure why, but he had a feeling it was because he’d never made a decision this big by himself before. To sign that contract without telling his family felt…

Instead of responding to the three of them, he got up from the sofa and headed into his bedroom. He grabbed his laptop, and settled on the couch next to Cressida. Pulling up the email draft he’d had sitting there for days, he re-read what he wrote.

_Mr. Stark -_

_I have a few minor adjustments to four stipulations in the contract, which you will see my lawyer noted on pages 4, 11, and 12. If you are amenable to these changes, I am ready to start work as soon as you’d like._

_Thank you for this opportunity, and I look forward to working together,_

_Steve Rogers_

“Hit send,” Cressida whispered.

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, Steve moves in, and our boys begin to get along just as well as you expect them to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve meets Amelia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been an odd writing process for me, pals. The tension of holding the original plot and creating something fresh has been more complicated than I anticipated. Special thanks to sabre, jeh, ferret, and moody for holding my hands as I wrestle. 
> 
> ALSO. [HT](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/hundredthousands-art) just dropped into my DMs a few days ago to ask if it was okay if she created cover art for this and oops she already did so here it is - AND LOOK AT THAT. I'm the will smith gif right now, gesturing to greatness. I love it so much.

* * *

“Sign here,” Tony indicated to Steve, who dutifully scribbled.

“And then,” Tony said as he brandished a fingerprint reader, “this is for access to the rest of the building. This is how you get into the mailroom, the gym, the pool, the -”

“We have a pool?”

Tony nodded. “It was here before I bought the building, and I highly doubt it’s fully legal, but Mrs. Alvarez in 4B is obsessed with it, and knows someone at city hall, so we get to keep it. It’s basically just good for water aerobics, but if you want to soak in chemicals for a little bit for some reason, have at it.”

Steve laughed, and something raced down Tony’s spine. They’d been finalizing paperwork for about an hour, and it had been shockingly pleasant. After their first interaction, Tony had braced himself for trouble. None had come.

Except when they talked about Amelia.

_“I can clean my own house,” Steve said simply._

_“Amelia isn’t just a cleaner, Steve,” Tony explained. “She won’t poke into your privacy or anything, but -”_

_“I ain’t so far up my own ass that I can’t scrub a floorboard,” Steve continued._

_Tony pursed his lips. “Steve, how many hours a day did you work during Fashion Week this year?”_

_“10? 12?”_

_“And you weren’t even in high demand,” Tony said. “This isn’t about your capability, this is about what you get paid for. You get paid to do a lot of things that don’t involve Tilex, and that’s okay. There’s going to be weeks of this where you aren’t home at all, or you’re home to sleep and then leave again. Amelia will make sure everything is clean, all your meals are prepped, and your laundry is taken care of. Think of her as a personal PA if you must, but she’s non-negotiable.”_

_Steve grumbled, but signed off on her schedule._

“We covered your preferred foods, your workout regimen, your skin care needs, the barber coming here instead of you going to Brooklyn -”

“I don’t-”

“Time, Steve,” Tony said for what had to have been the seventh time that morning. “Your time for the next six months is mine, and when you’re on my clock, I’ll tell you what is worth your time and what isn’t. Taking a subway to Red Hook once a week just to get a haircut is not worth your time.”

“I’ll do it on my days off,” Steve protested once again, and Tony let out a laugh.

“Days off are about to become a flexible concept, Steve. You’ll get rest, and we’ll work on balance, I promise, but whole days? Entire days? Not for a while.”

“That’s a violation of labor laws,” Steve stated.

Tony shook his head. “It’s actually not, because you’re a contractor, and legally, you have no rights, which is shitty, and feel free to take it up with the Department of Labor, but in reality - the world you chose by saying yes to this is a weird one.”

Steve set his jaw and Tony was sure he’d lost him - confused as to why, though. Disgusting working hours were part and parcel of the entire entertainment industries. Tony hadn’t met a personal boundary he hadn’t crossed, and most of his colleagues are the same.

“I thought…” Steve started, and then scratched at his beard, and Tony wondered if that was a tick for when he was thinking. “I thought that maybe with this new contract, it could be different.”

“It might be able to be,” Tony confessed. “I have a lot of clients who get to set their own schedules, and demand full days off on shoots, and all of that, but you’re absolutely nowhere near that yet.”

“But you say you can get me there?”

“Steve, if you give me every ounce of your willpower for the next six months, you can be the pickiest and most reclusive motherfucker on the planet, and I’ll still have you booked for two years out. But you gotta do the work,” Tony emphasized.

Steve responded by putting out his hand for Tony to shake. “Alright, six months, and we do it your way. At the end, I get full control back.”

“Cross my heart,” Tony swore as he shook.

Tony ignored the electric tingles that went up his arm at the contact, and pulled out his phone instead. “Now, let’s get to work.”

* * *

_WhatsApp: Cressida_

_Steve: If I have to make a kissy face one more time_

_Cressida: Drama queen, it’s been three days._

_Steve: And all I’ve done is mouth exercises._

_Cressida: Do you need me to send a hooker or something? Do you want something different to do with it? What vowel does sucking a cock help you form?_

_Steve: I’m deleting you from my phone._

_Cressida: Dreams do come true._

* * *

“[Kissy face smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgQwClG1VWQ),” Tony repeated. “Four cycles.”

Steve fought to keep his eyes from rolling, but complied. He made a kissy face and mentally counted to ten, and then smiled as wide as he could and held that for ten seconds. He repeated the cycle four times, and then looked expectantly at Tony.

“Are muscles tired yet?” Tony asked.

Steve shook his head, and Tony grinned. “That’s good. Two days ago, you were tired after three cycles. So let’s try for the full 90 minutes.”

_An hour and a half of kisses and smiles?_ Steve was about to protest, but Tony set a timer and pointed to the mirror set up in front of Steve.

He had been at Tony’s - or, his, he guessed - for five days and they’d all been exhausting. When he wasn’t practicing mouth exercises, he was listening to audiobooks that Tony selected because the voice actor used clear vowels. He’d listened to a book on the American Civil War, one on the history of wine, and a romance novel that he’d immediately passed on to Cressida because he wanted to know if women’s vaginas really worked like that.

Whenever he spoke, Tony was quick to correct him, to repeat how the word should sound, and then make a face Steve had come to hate. He got it, he was just a vessel for this shit - he couldn’t make Tony any money while he still sounded like Sarah’s son, but he felt his personhood stripped from him with every ‘look’.

When the timer went off, Steve’s cheeks were aching, and he drank nearly the entire bottle of water sitting next to him. He was about to ask what was next when Tony spoke.

“Amelia will be here in about thirty - do you want to go for a run and avoid her? Or do you want to hang and meet her? It’s your call - I need to head to a meeting and was going to release you to a workout and a break,” Tony said.

Steve weighed his options - he was still furious that this Amelia person was part of his life at all, much less a required one. However, Cress had told him to stop being a ‘stubborn prat’ and meet the woman at least because ‘Sarah taught you better manners than that, I’m sure’. “I’ll stay,” Steve said out loud. “It would be good to meet her.”

“I think you’ll like her,” Tony said, which was what he always said when he mentioned the woman. “Right, I’ll be back to collect you around 2:30; we have that meeting with the Prada people, and I’m not happy with the contract, so I want to go over it again before we go in.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said with a shrug.

“No,” Tony said firmly, “it’s fine for someone who doesn’t have the future you do, or the support you do, or your ass, to be frank.”

Steve felt himself blush slightly and then gritted his teeth, the way he always did when Tony mentioned his body that way - like it was only something used to make money. Which, logically he knew it was, but the tone still chaffed.

“Whatever, Tony,” Steve said. “I’ve put my career in your hands.” He knew he sounded petulant, and he didn’t care.

“I didn’t love that tone,” Tony said, “but whatever, as you say. Rest your face and I’ll be back.”

* * *

_WhatsApp: MamaAmelia_

_Tony: Please feed him something that isn’t a protein shake._

_Amelia: Is he even allowing me in the house?_

_Tony: He claims he’ll be there and is ready to meet you._

_Amelia: Great_

_Tony: Also, if you could tell him to stop fighting me so hard on the mouth exercises. This is literally what he’s signed up for._

_Amelia: Are you being a rude bully about them?_

_Tony: Never._

_Amelia: He’s not one of your baby models, Tony. He’s got a lot of life under him, and he doesn’t seem that impressed with you. You might - and I know this may shock you - have to treat him like a human being._

_Tony: Excuse you, I treat everyone like a human being._

_Amelia: Then he gets breaks, Tony._

_Tony: He does get breaks._

_Amelia: Tony, please just consider this man might not be beholden to your genius, and consider working with him instead of at him._

_Amelia: Also, it’s only been a week._

Tony pocketed his phone without answering and slid into the waiting town car. Wait until Amelia met him - then she’d see Tony was right about Steve. He may claim to want to do the work, but he was fighting Tony every step of the way. They clashed almost daily - over dumb things like how many marshmallows Steve could shove in his mouth and still be understood, and serious things, like the direction of Steve’s career. If he wasn’t so intent on not marrying Ty, Tony would probably fire the walking personification of male perfection that was currently living in his building.

But that option wasn’t on the table, so he hoped Amelia’s mothering could unlock obedience in Steve.

* * *

“Hello?”

A pleasant voice rang through the apartment as Steve was popping two pieces of whole wheat bread into the toaster. He had five pieces of bread per week, and Tony was stressing him out enough that he was going to have two today, goddammit. He left the kitchen to see a woman in a bright yellow pea coat, balancing a few bags in her arms. “Hi, I’m Steve.”

She smiled wide and her brown eyes were warm - Steve got the immediate impression that she and Winnie Barnes would be good friends. There was something about the way the woman carried herself, and the way she just… was. “I’m Amelia Khaddib. I’m so glad to finally meet you, Steve.”

Amelia deposited her bags on the kitchen table, and began to rifle through them. With a wide smile, she produced a package of some sort of food and offered it to him. “I did some research - these crackers are good for people who have sore mouths. Like, dental surgery or something. But I know Tony, and I’m sure every part of your head is tired, so hopefully these will be good.”

Steve forced himself to thank her as his mind spun. Of all the things he thought would happen, this wasn’t even close. He assumed she’d be a prim housekeeper - someone who belonged in a British manor home off PBS or something.

She made small talk as she bustled about the room and he munched on his freshly toasted snack. Commenting on the weather as she sent the Roomba on its rounds, and asking what sports he followed as she unpacked the groceries, her chatter made him feel settled in her presence. She told him about the little boys in her building who were obsessed with Minecraft and how she was learning to crochet from a YouTube channel someone named Pepper had found for her.

“I’m making [ash reshteh](https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1020205-ash-reshteh-persian-greens-bean-and-noodle-soup),” Amelia said after she settled. “It’s normally something for springtime - when Nowruz is upon us - but I think it takes like hope and home all at once, and I have a feeling you could use both.”

She said it matter of factly, as though she knew him already. It probably should have infuriated him - he hated people making assumptions about him - but instead, it made something in him settle. Here was a person in this life who saw him as a person. Not a body, or a client, or a way to make money, or a project… but Steve. Steve, whose mouth was tired, and whose soul was a little too.

“What’s in it?”

She smiled brightly. “Do you want to help?”

Steve nodded, and she tilted her head towards one of the bags. “Onions, beans, greens, noodles… good stuff. Can you get the bushels of herbs that are in the canvas bag with the reindeer on it? We need to chop all of them pretty finely.”

He dug around in a purple bag that did, in fact, have a reindeer on it, and then set about the task at hand. “What did you say happened in spring?”

“Nowruz,” Amelia replied. “It’s Persian New Year.”

Steve had no idea how to respond to that. He considered himself a pretty worldly guy - his neighborhood had taught him a lot, as had his career - but he had never heard of Nowruz.

Amelia must have caught his discomfort. She smiled warmly as her hands slid onions methodically over the mandoline. “My parents were born and raised in Tehran, and they loved their country. My father was a genius with numbers, and he was asked to come and teach at MIT for a semester in the 60s. MIT liked him so much that they kept asking him to stay, and in the meanwhile, my mother got work as a highly specialized seamstress working on clothing for the lobster catcher in Maine. It was a good life, they tell me, and I was born into it, but they were always planning on taking me back to Iran. In the spring of 1977, my father went back to Tehran to see family, and look for a house, and do all of the father things that one would do when moving his family. He was arrested by the Ayatollah’s army, and we never saw him again. I travel to Iran now under my married name, the one I did not just give you, and my mother died without ever seeing her family again, out of fear of being my father’s wife.”

She turned to him. “That’s the story. There’s more, of course, but those are the basics that most people are afraid to ask when they hear the word ‘Persian’. I know you’ve never heard of Nowruz; it’s okay, Steve. We all learn the world by meeting the people who live in it. Now, you are chopping too slowly.”

He picked up his pace, and was about to ask her more questions when she beat him to it.

“Tit for tat, Mr. Model Man,” she said. He turned his head to see her grab a pot and pour the sliced onions in. “They need to caramelize. Your turn.”

“To carmelize? I tend to burn easily. Irish skin, and all.”

She snorted. “Tony told me you had a bite. I know you’re born in Brooklyn, and that you’ve been a model for a while, and that’s about it. Tell me more.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a gentle command. Normally, Steve would probably bristle. He wasn’t ever sure how to talk about his life - it was one of the things that terrified him about Tony’s plans, actually. At some point, he’d have to do interviews, and people would know things, and he wasn’t sure he wanted them to.

But Amelia seemed like a good person to practice on.

“Nothing fancy,” Steve said. “School was hard, and I wasn’t good at it. I like learning a lot, but I hate being cooped up in one place, and I had some really bad teachers and a pretty bad attitude problem. My dad wasn’t around, but we had great neighbors in the building, so I never really felt lonely. I still live in the same building, bought it with my first big paycheck, actually, and I’m not in a hurry to move.”

Amelia made a sound Steve couldn’t translate. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Time to add all the beans to the pot.” She poured chickpeas and kidney beans into the pot, and then added another Steve didn’t recognize.

“What’s the third bean?”

“Navy,” she replied. “They’re all heavy in protein and nutrients, and all the good stuff. My mom used to say we ate this soup at the start of the year because it contained all the things we needed to go throughout the year. Warmth, health, comfort, and a challenge.”

“A challenge?”

“Persian cooking is about attention and preparation,” Amelia explained. “If you don’t mind it carefully, the spices can be out of balance, or you can burn an element. They’re ritualistic recipes, and my mother taught me to slow down to make them. Focus on what you’re doing, on who you’re feeding, on why you’re feeding them. The challenge is one of patience and care, as the rest of our lives were often selfish and chaotic.”

“I like that,” Steve said softly after a few minutes.

“I thought you might,” she replied simply.

He didn’t know how to reply to that. Instead, he asked a question he’d been dying to ask. “Why do you work for Tony?”

She chuckled. “I do and I don’t.”

“What?”

“His best friend, Pepper? I work mostly for her,” Amelia explained. “And her family. I do the same things there I do here, and at a few other friends of theirs around town. Tony pays me, that’s true, but that’s more out of his love for Pepper than his need of me.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because as much as Tony loves Pepper, Pepper loves Tony,” Amelia said simply. “Platonic soulmates, is how I explain them to people. If he needs some of my time to help a client, then she wants me to focus on that task. I’ve been with them all for eight years.”

“I have one of those, platonic soulmates,” Steve said. “My pal Bucky, he’s been my brother for most of my life.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He’s the best man I know,” Steve said quickly. “He was better at school than me, went into the Marines to get the money to pay for college. He wanted to be an architect, but -”

He caught himself short, and Amelia laughed again.

“Steve, I’ve had this color skin my whole life, and definitely for the last twenty years. I know where your friend went, and have my own feelings about it, but where he went was above his paygrade and we all know it.”

He pursed his lips and continued. “He lost his arm in Afghanistan, and getting him a prosthetic that works well enough for him to use the drafting software he needs to use for the college he wants to go to… anyway. He’s really why I said yes to Tony. I need the money to set Buck up with what he needs.”

She turned fully from the stove at that point, and placed her hand on his arm. “You’re a good egg, Steve Rogers, and so is Tony. I’m sure you want to kill him - everyone does - but trust the process. It works.”

He fought a groan, but nodded.

“Now, we have a few minutes while that simmers,” Amelia said. “Why don’t you go settle on the sofa, and I’ll make you some tea for your throat, and you sit in silence for a bit.”

He nodded gratefully. As much as he liked the small talk with Amelia, his throat and face really were tired, and Steve was happy to flick on Netflix and watch _Glow Up_ for the third time.

* * *

_WhatsApp: Pepper Potts_

_Amelia: He’s perfect._

_Pepper: What do you mean?_

_Amelia: He wants to do the work, but he’s fighting Tony on it because of ego, I think. Not his, but almost this subconscious need to make Tony work for the respect Steve will give him. He’s obviously fond of Tony, but also angry at him, and frustrated with both Tony and himself. He'll challenge Tony beyond what Tony thinks he can handle, but I think he'll actually change Tony's life._

_Pepper: Fascinating._

_Amelia: And he is more gorgeous in person than in pictures._

_Pepper: Tony’s texting so much about how frustrated he is that I figured something was up. Tony doesn’t get worked up over clients he doesn’t care about._

_Amelia: You’re right, but it’s more than just that. There’s something else going on. They’re both way too snappy for people who just met._

_Pepper: Tony's both completely easy to read and a total mystery._

_Amelia: Keeps you on your toes._

_Pepper: By the way, when you come tomorrow, can you grab more butter from the bodega? I tried scones again._

_Amelia: Pepper_

_Pepper: I know, but I wanted to see_

_Amelia: Of course you did. I’ll see you tomorrow with butter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not Persian, but I love someone dearly whose story is close to Amelia's and she allowed me to steal her life for the fic. She's the first person who made me ash reshteh, and taught me about the true way to make tea. She's in another fandom, and I doubt will ever read this, but I've wanted to celebrate her in some way in a fic and I'm glad I found it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, kudos, DMs, etc on this fic. We still have a ways to go, but my hope is to get to a point where I can post multiple times a week and get y'all outta here faster. Hopefully the muse will comply.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve reaches a breaking point, and gets some Thoughts on that from Bucky and Cressida

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every comment, kudos, and DM gets me to write faster, and makes me feel so grateful that my hobby brings joy to others. Thanks for the support on this one, friends - things are about to get interesting.

“The rain in Spain -”

“The reign in Speh-”

“The rain”

“That is what I said,” Steve ground out.

_Well, fuck,_ Tony thought. In the two weeks he’d been working with Steve Rogers, he’d learned three key things.

One: Steve does not like injustice. The concept of it, the execution of it, the realities inherent to it. Big fat nope from Steve on any level of injustice.

Two: Steve was easily as stubborn as Tony was, and when he decided he was “doing it right” or that his mouth was making the sounds Tony wanted them, nothing would dissuade him.

Three: Amelia was the only person Tony knew who Steve trusted.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t trust - or seem to even like - Tony.

“Can you try it again? Please? Widen your throat.”

He didn’t finish the sentence out loud the way he did in his head. _Like you’re taking a cock down it. I wonder if he could enunciate better with a cock down his throat - at least his jaw would be relaxed._

Really, Tony knew four things about Steve Rogers.

Four: Tony was hopelessly attracted to him, and spent far too long each day reminding himself that he could not undress clients with his teeth.

As Steve droned on, with murder in his eyes, Tony pulled out his phone.

_WhatsApp: Pepper Rhodes_

_Tony: I would like to build a time machine and go back to before I hired him. Or better yet. Fire him now._

_Pepper: Stop being dramatic. You can’t fire him after two weeks._

_Pepper: What happened to this guy being the future of CW?_

_Tony: He’s not doing the work_

_Tony: I can’t work with someone who isn’t doing the work_

_Pepper: Two weeks feels like a real short amount of time to expect someone to change their entire mouth, Tony_

“Says the woman who does not have marriage to Tyberius Stone on the table,” Tony muttered over the noise of Steve loudly butchering every vowel in the English language.

The techniques Tony was using on Steve had worked on every other client he’d ever had. There was a science to helping people reform how their mouth made words, but it was also an art. An art Tony had largely perfected, along with the art of media management. Two weeks in, and Steve should at least be able to say his name without sounding like Joe Pesci.

And yet.

_Tony: At least he’s pretty to look at while he’s ruining my life_

_Pepper: That's the spirit._

* * *

“Steve?” Amelia called as she entered the apartment. Steve let out a sigh of relief - if Amelia was here, it meant Tony wasn’t expecting him to go to anything tonight.

In the month since Steve had arrived into this world, certain rhythms had been established.

Steve heard the door click behind Tony, and let out a primal scream that tore through the apartment. What more did this monster want from him? He’d already accidentally swallowed two of the fucking marbles he was forced to shove into his mouth. He was sick from the marshmallows, he was exhausted from the constant shame of being told “no, no, NO, Steve.”

And Tony’s tone.

“Just you fucking wait, Tony Stark,” Steve muttered. He began pacing the living room. He grabbed the hairbrush Tony had been forcing him to talk into in that rehearsal session, and used it like a baton to conduct the symphony of his anger.

“I will sound perfect, and I will beat this accent, and I will do all these things you thought I could that now you’re telling me I can’t,” Steve spat. “I will, and just you wait. You’ll be sorry that you ever looked down on me or doubted me. Our fortunes will turn, just you wait. You’ll be broke once I tell every single person that the great Tony Stark is a megalomaniacal asshat who tortures his clients, and will I help you? Don’t be funny. Just you wait, Tony.”

Steve was working himself into a right lather and he knew it. He meant very little coming out his mouth, but all the pain, the frustration, and the shame he had felt over the past two months just came rocketing out.

“Just wait until the first time you’re sick, Tony, and you send me to get the doctor, and instead of that? I head to catch a Mets game. That’ll make you feel great, eh? Maybe then you’ll realize that you need me just as much as I need you? Huh? What will you do then? Sure, Amelia may be here, but can anyone really love you who you don’t pay?”

Steve threw the hairbrush against the wall, and found sobs choking his throat, but he pressed on with his rant.

“Some day, I’ll be so famous, that they’ll declare a whole fucking day for me. Forget having a street named after me - I’m getting a whole fucking day. What day do I want, you ask? I’ll take the 20th of May - my mother’s birthday. Steve Rogers Day! And what will I ask for, Tony? How will I want the masses to celebrate my day?

“With your downfall, Tony Stark. I’ll ask them to strip you of all your titles, and all your wealth, and all your fancy ass shit, and send you to live in a one room cabin with no electricity in Wyoming. Just you fucking wait, Tony. Wyoming. That’s your future. Wy-fucking-oming.”

“Whuddya got against Wyoming, pal?”

Bucky’s voice shocked him back to reality. He felt the tears streaming down his face, and the ball of rage still roiled in his stomach. He felt so many emotions that his skin was the only thing keeping him from going every single place at once, and most of those emotions were directed inwards.

“Nothing, Buck,” he sighed. “Sorry, didn’t hear ya come in.”

“Figured as much,” Bucky said with a soft chuckle, “since you were banishing Stark to 1890 when I got here. Amelia’s in the kitchen and said you were stomping around in here. What’d he do this time?”

“I still can’t say the sentence.”

“The rain one?”

Steve nodded. “Two months in and he said I should be able to nail the ‘a’ vowel sounds and I still can’t, so he said I have another month to not only nail ‘a’, but ‘o’ as well or he’s terminating our contract.”

“Damn,” Bucky said simply and headed for the kitchen.

“So then I’ll be homeless, and a failure, and -”

“Nope. Hey, you got any of that fancy fizzy shit?”

Steve’s head shot up. “What do you mean, ‘nope’? And you mean kombucha or sparkling water?”

“Kombucha. And I said ‘nope’ because you won’t be a failure even if this didn't’ work out. You tried something and it wasn’t for you.” Bucky shrugged. “But more importantly, if you quit now because it’s hard, then fuck you, so that’s really what I meant by ‘nope’. You don’t get to stop just because it’s hard. That’s not what we do.”

Steve glared at the entrance to the kitchen until Bucky was back in it, sipping confidently from the glass bottle of passion fruit kombucha that Amelia had bought for him the day before. “It’s not hard, Buck, it’s impossible.”

Bucky shook his head. “Again, I say nope. You are the smartest guy I know, and the most stubborn. So if it’s impossible it’s because you decided it is, not because it actually is.”

“Things are allowed to be impossible,” Steve snapped.

“Sure,” Bucky acquiesced. “Just not living in a hoity toity penthouse and being paid to move your mouth differently.”

Steve groaned. “When you put it like that…”

“Buddy,” Bucky said softly, “what’s really going on?”

Steve flopped onto the couch. “He makes me so angry. He makes me angrier than anyone I’ve ever met. And when he makes me angry, I want to strangle him, but also prove him wrong.”

Bucky started laughing. “Oh, so he noticed that one of the ways to make you work is to get under your skin?”

“He’s a bully, Buck,” Steve growled.

“Is he? Or is he working with someone who makes the rock I just bought for Nat look flexible?”

Steve blinked. “Burying the lede there, James.”

Bucky laughed, and made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand. “I came over to show you, but I think we need to cover the meltdown I walked in on first. I’m just throwing this out there, but Cress says everyone says he’s a bit egotistical, and sometimes a blowhard, and always sarcastic, but no one has ever called him a bully. They say he works his clients hard, but never harder than he works himself, and you’re the first one she says she’s heard of having level seventeen temper tantrums because of the marshmallows.”

“I am tired of shoving my face full of Peeps,” Steve grumbled.

“Then learn to say the words another way,” Bucky said calmly. “Buddy, I feel for you here, but honestly? He’s handing you the world on a silver platter, and you’re being a cock about it.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and Bucky continued.

“Is he actually, factually, abusing you?”

Steve shook his head. “No.”

“Has he tried to hit you?”

“No.”

“Has he harassed you to the point where you don’t feel safe?”

Steve blanched. The idea of not feeling safe with Tony was anathema. He felt a lot of things around Tony, and he realized ‘safe’ was always one of them. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “Between him, and Amelia, this is probably the safest I’ve ever felt.”

“Then there’s no reason to walk that I can see,” Bucky said. “Figure out a way to say the fucking sentence, asshat, and let him make you famous.”

Steve blinked at his best friend, and then nodded. “I wasn’t actually gonna quit.”

“I know,” Bucky said, “but it’s good to remember why you won’t. Now, can we talk about something actually important? I gotta figure out how to ask her to marry me.”

“‘Nat, will you marry me?’ seems like a good first draft,” Steve quipped.

“Ass.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

The men grinned at each other for a few beats, before Bucky swallowed and Steve could see the fear on his face. “But what -”

“Nope,” Steve grinned as he used the word. “Don’t you dare borrow a hypothetical. She’s just been waiting for you to ask.”

Nat rarely wanted a lot of the traditional, gender-normative trappings of a relationship, but she’d been clear the entire time she and Bucky were together, that when it was time, she wanted him on one knee and she wanted it to be a diamond.

Bucky took a deep breath. “This is more real than the baby, somehow.”

Steve shrugged. “Makes sense, honestly. Lots of folks co-parent without being married, and you’d be committed to Orville no matter what, but saying you want to put in the work to have the whole package is another level.”

Bucky nodded. “That’s what I want. The whole package.”

_Me too,_ Steve agreed internally. _Not that there are any candidates out there or anything._

A flash of Tony’s face - from the time the week before when Steve had managed a small victory and Tony had looked at Steve like Steve had just reinvented time, there was that much pride - danced unbidden across his vision.

“So, you got a full plan?” He asked Bucky.

Bucky nodded, and launched into an explanation, which Steve focused on so he didn’t have to analyze why Tony’s face came into his mind when Bucky was talking about happily ever afters.

* * *

“Tony.”

As it always did when Tony heard Ty’s voice, his soul shriveled slightly. “Tyberius.”

Tony and Steve had a bad day that day. Not that any days were particularly good, per se, but that one had been… horrible. They’d screamed at each other, and Tony almost terminated the contract because he couldn’t work with someone who wasn’t willing to work.

And then he’d caught a look that flitted over Steve’s face when he was saying something about his neighborhood and Tony realized something very important.

Steve wasn’t too dumb to change, or even too stubborn.

He was _too scared._

There had been many clients over the years that didn’t even know how terrified they were of change. They all probably thought they thrived in change, but Tony soon figured out better. To change where someone lives is not the same as changing where someone belongs, and by reshaping vowels, sometimes that’s exactly what Tony was doing.

When Steve showed back up on his block the first time nailed his accent, and he sounded like someone straight out of _Gossip Girl_ , it was going to be A Thing with a capital ‘T’. Tony had a feeling it might not be to the folks of his neighborhood, but it definitely would be to Steve.

So instead of firing him, Tony told Steve to take the night off. He then dug through his emails to find some event or another that would keep him away from the flat, and ended up in a basement of a bar in Chelsea at some sort of avant-garde gallery.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Ty replied, creepily trailing his fingers up Tony’s arm. “I thought your new pet would keep you quite busy. Or have you failed already? Mother is oh so looking forward to welcoming you to the family.”

Tony fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. The only human more odious than Ty himself was Ty’s mother. “No, Ty, just giving his vocal chords a break. Figured I’d show my face to support -” Goddammit, who is he here for? - “Rathbergh.” _Thank you, eidetic memory._

Ty cocked an eyebrow. “You haven’t seen Rathbergh since two years ago in Montauk, but whatever, Tony. Keep your secrets. You’ll share everything with me soon enough.”

Ty swanned off, and Tony drained the entire glass of whiskey he had in one gulp. He was about to signal to a roving waiter for another, when he stopped himself. He had four months, three weeks, and two days to get Steve to fool the world.

Sobriety was required.

* * *

_Meanwhile, Across Town..._

“So he just gave ya the day off?” Cressida peered through the screen.

Steve shook his head. “Just the night.”

“Is your mouth really that tired?”

Steve nodded. “Honestly, Cress, this is so much harder than I thought it would be.” He sighed deeply and then continued. “Remember that one shoot in Central Park, like three weeks after we met? Where the pigeons pooped on us, but they made us keep smiling? It’s that, but I never shower.”

Cressida rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you over the sound of the world’s tiniest violin playing while you roll around in your 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.”

“It’s hard,” he repeated.

“I’m not saying it’s not,” Cressida replied, “but you’re focusing far too hard on that and I can’t figure out why. You’re a gay model who has never slept with anyone to get a shoot - that’s also hard and, yet you’ve managed. You’re an orphan who created a family out of misfits. Also hard, and yet… here we all are. You taught yourself to read after everything with your dad. Also hard. Do you see my point here?”

“I do,” Steve said. He really didn’t; he just wanted her to be quiet.

“You don’t,” she protested. “If you did, you’d be even angrier at me, because I’m calling you a coward.”

“I’m not a fucking coward,” Steve growled.

“Then do the work,” Cressida snapped. “You’re not too dumb, and you’re not lazy, and so something else is happening. Figure it the fuck out, buddy, becuase you’ve got five-ish months until that Gala, and if you fuck your life because you’re too something else besides dedicated, I’ll kill you.”

“It’s just a contract,” Steve said.

Cressida licked her lips, and then looked away from the camera for a minute. Which is exactly how Steve knew he was in trouble. “That is the most entitled white man thing you have ever said.”

“Cress -”

“No, I speak now,” she said tersely. Her eyes had fire in them, and he dutifully listened. “You are being handed the world on a silver platter that’s embossed with 14-karat gold and, I don’t know, the blood of virgins or something. The world, Steve, that’s what Tony Stark is handing you. He’s telling you that you will never, ever, for the rest of your life, not know where your next meal is coming from. He’s telling you that you can buy Buck the best arm on the planet. He’s telling you that you can take care of Winnie for as long as she lets you. He’s telling you that it’s all yours - all the dreams, all the things you only confess when you’re drunk - all of it, and all you have to do is learn to move your fucking mouth differently. Fuck you that you’re ready to give up.”

“That’s not what he’s doing,” Steve argued, and he knew he was snapping back just for the sake of it and things were about to go Not Well. “He’s telling me I have to change who I am -”

“You have to sound different! Goddamnit Steve, your accent is not at the core of who you are! You can still be from Brooklyn and sound like you’re from England. You are the one who decided this is some sort of affront to your manhood, or whatever. You are always Steve Rogers, and you are always a boy from Brooklyn. I don’t care if you marry the goddamn crown prince of Latislavia -”

“Where is that?”

“I have no idea, I might have made it up.” She waved him off. “You will always be Sarah McCool Rogers’ son. You will always be Bucky’s best friend, you will always be my gay work husband, you will always be Steven Grant Rogers, the biggest pain in the ass and best man I know. So, can you please fucking move your tongue and cheeks in all the good ways?”

He smirked and she held up a hand.

“I heard it as soon as I said it. But the point stands.”

He took a few deep breaths, and let her words wash over him. “You’re right.”

She dramatically cupped her hand to her ear. “Doth my ears deceive me?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Move your mouth in the right ways, Rogers!” She said as a closing, and they ended the call.

He flipped open the photos app on his phone and flipped through a few images. Faces of people he loved flashed over the screen as his thumb moved, and he meditated on Cressida’s words. If he sounded different, would these people really love him less? And if they did, did they ever love him in the first place?

He flipped on the Rangers game and was gratified to see they were winning. It was only the 2nd period, so plenty of time for them to forget how to play hockey, but for now he was happy. He finished the beer he’d started before the call, and found himself moving his mouth in between kissy faces and smiles as his team took on the Flyers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we get our first appearance of a song directly from the musical. I didn't really want to mess with "Why Can't the English" or "Wouldn't It Be Loverly", but this one had to make an appearance. To see the clip from the movie, head [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVtPg2KhYGQ). 
> 
> Tune in next week for "A Little Bit of Luck" and cheesesteak egg rolls.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys both have shitstains for fathers and they share a few details. It happens in the section at the Garden, if you need to skim. 
> 
> Writing a longfic is a lot about marinating in ideas and often feeling like you're the only one. I am so grateful I am not alone in crafting this for you - sabre, heather, and jeh have been INVALUABLE - but also all of you. Your comments, DMs, etc, have helped me remember that there are folks waiting to see what happens, and that you're as invested in this numbskulls as I am. thanks, pals.
> 
> Also, Tony isn't a linguist, and neither am I - I leave that to Ferret - and I'm sure people that do accent work now don't make people eat marbles or marshmallows, but the nod to the musical was too strong to ignore.

_Two Weeks Later & Four Months Until Met Gala_

“What’s that?”

Tony poked through Amelia’s grocery bags one Thursday morning, and noticed she had all the ingredients for rice pudding. Which he always begged her to make and she never did, so he must have done something to deserve this.

“Steve mentioned he missed his mother’s rice pudding, so I emailed her best friend and asked for the recipe. I thought I’d make him a batch to have as a treat,” she explained.

He paused. “I love your rice pudding.”

“I know,” she said simply.

“And you say it’s too labor intensive,” Tony continued.

“It is.”

“And yet -”

“Anthony, when was the last time you talked to the boy without making him work?” Amelia kept scrubbing the stovetop as she asked the question, but her tone was frosty. Tony took note.

“We’re not friends, Meels.”

“That isn’t what I asked, Tony.”

He considered her question for a minute. “You think I’m working him too hard.”

“That’s not what I asked either,” she said. “Answer my question.”

“Probably before he signed the contract,” Tony replied, not sure where she was going with this.

“You pluck him out of his life, shove him in this apartment, give him a monstrous task to do, and then never talk to him like a human? Goodness, Tony, I thought you better than that,” she said.

He was about to respond when she continued. “And don’t give me this nonsense that you pay me to take care of him so you don’t have to. If that’s the case, you’re a coward, and you’ve never been this bad with other clients before.”

_Other clients don’t make me want to lick them,_ Tony thought. _Trust me, my distance is for his own good._

“The stakes are higher-”

“For you, Tony, not for him. He has no idea what the stakes are, and so all he sees is a taskmaster who thinks he’s never good enough!”

“He’s making great progress,” Tony protested. In a bid to have something to do with his hands, he started chopping the cilantro she’d left on the counter. He hoped the rhythm would soothe him.

“Have you told him that?”

Tony considered her question. “I’m sure I have.”

When he got no response from her besides a snort, he put down the knife and moved so he could see her face. “Meels, speak.”

“Do something fun with him, Anthony,” she replied. “Treat him like a human being, like someone with actual interests, and not just a mouth that you’re reforming. Ask him about Bucky and Nat, ask him about the little girl in 3B that he’s worried about, ask him about his friend Sam, ask him about why he loves the Rangers -”

“He likes hockey?” Tony brightened. They had a box at the Garden. That could be an easy fix.

“I think as much as he loves oxygen,” she said with a chuckle. “My point being, I’m thinking you didn’t know a single thing I said before I mentioned the Rangers, and those are some of the things he talks to me about all the time.”

“He’s doing a great job, Meels, you know that.”

“I do,” she replied sagely. “He doesn’t.”

Tony considered this. He’d nearly lost a client once because he forgot positive reinforcement, and Pepper had made him read all sorts of books to learn from his mistakes. He just figured Steve came from a world without any, so he’d be used to it and -

_And that’s why he especially needs to be encouraged._ Pepper’s voice floated into his head, the way it usually did when he was an idiot and needed correction.

Tony sighed. They didn’t really have time to become friends, but if it got him to the end goal of not marrying Ty, he’d do anything. “Let me see if the box is empty for tomorrow’s game.”

“Good idea.”

“You’re patronizing me,” he protested. “I know that tone.”

She laughed. “No, Tony, I’m just… I love you, you know.”

“I know,” he replied.

“This is what love sounds like sometimes,” she replied quietly. She put down her cleaning supplies and pulled him into a hug. “You’re doing great work, Tony. You just have to remember that you only deal with one robot, and the rest of us are humans.”

“JARVIS is-”

“Sure, you know what I mean.”

She kissed his forehead and released him. “Now, do you have time to help me make this rice pudding? We’ll see what the differences are in her recipe and mine.”

Tony mentally rolled through his schedule. He absolutely did not have time, and yet he knew he needed to make it. “Let me check on the tickets for me and Steve, and then yes.”

“Perfect, I’ll pop on the kettle.”

* * *

_WhatsApp: Tony Stark_

_Tony: Rogers, I hear you like hockey. True/false?_

Steve stared at the message. In the two months they’d been together, Tony had asked him three personal questions, and none of them involved the Rangers. “Amelia must have told him.”

“What’s that?” Sam said, straining to be heard over the din of the bar.

“Nothing,” Steve said back. “Just a text from Tony.”

“I thought he gave you the night off,” Sam said, taking a long pull from his beer. “It’s not every day your brother gets engaged.”

“He did,” Steve said, not taking his eyes away from the phone. “He just wants to know if I like hockey.”

Sam snorted. “Did you tell him the first thing you bought with your first paycheck was good seats to a Rangers game?”

No, but I told Amelia. Steve shook his head, and replied to the text.

_Steve: Been a fan of the Rangers for my whole life, yeah._

_Tony: Tomorrow night, they’re playing the Capitals, and I got us the CW box._

“Of course he has a box,” Steve muttered to himself. He caught himself quickly though. After Cress and Bucky’s Come-To-Jesus style chats with him, he made a promise to himself to lean into this experience more than he had been. Giving Tony the benefit of the doubt was hard, and the exercises were still utterly and completely annoying, but they were right. He was being given the opportunity of a lifetime, and only his stubborn ass was going to ruin it.

He’d started asking Amelia questions about Tony - innocuous things at first, but he’d gotten increasingly curious in the past several days when she’d casually mention things like the fact that his very first Christmas was when Pepper realized all the boxes that Howard posed Tony next to in the famous photoshoots were empty and decided to throw him one of their own.

_“Wait, what? He never got presents?”_

_Amelia shook her head. “Howard didn’t think that gifts built character.”_

_“He was a child,” Steve said incredulously._

_“And Howard was always himself,” Amelia said simply._

Steve tried to push her to find out what that meant, and she told him to ask Tony about it sometime. That was becoming her standard answer - ask Tony.

He never seemed to find the courage, though. It was hard to ask questions when your voice is what enraged the person you wanted to get to know. Because that was the true kicker - he did want to know Tony. Once he’d shifted his thinking, he’d begun to notice that Tony was, in fact, pretty cool. Still a demoralizing taskmaster sometimes, but also funny, and dedicated, and…

Well, Steve wasn’t blind.

Tony Stark was also hot as all living fuck.

The moral crisis of ‘is it okay to jerk off to your boss?’ was becoming an increasingly desperate dilemma.

And now the man wanted to take him to a hockey match. In a box. At Madison Square Garden.

“You’re gonna go, right?” Sam asked, breaking Steve’s reverie. “You’re not going to be all Stubborn Steve on this one?”

“Please,” Steve snorted. “I’d sit with Ivanka if it meant I got to see the Rangers from a box.”

“I hear each box has its own bathroom, so you never have to leave it,” Sam said, with slight wonder in his voice.

“Cress went to an event at Citi Field once, and in those boxes, they have concierges,” Steve replied. “I wonder if they do at the Garden.”

“Text him back, man, and find out,” Sam replied.

_Steve: Not to be this guy, but seeing the Rangers from the fancy seats has been a bucket list thing for a while._

_Tony: Perfect. And we won’t tell Nakita that you’re cheating, because they have these cheesesteak egg roll things that are so good you want to bathe in the sauce._

Steve snorted at the reference to his nutritionist.

_Steve: I’ll switch my cheat day from Sunday to tomorrow. I don’t have another shirtless shoot for a month or two - thanks, winter._

_Tony: Is that why it’s your favorite time of year?_

Something else Steve had said to Amelia, and not to Tony. Before he responded to Tony, he switched the chat.

_Steve: Do you tell Tony everything I say?_

He winced as he read that. He didn’t mean to be so hostile.

Amelia didn’t respond immediately, so he flipped back to Tony.

_Steve: I love snow, always have. But now that I do this? Yeah, being allowed to eat donuts more than once every six weeks is a nice perk._

_Tony: If you don’t want to do swimwear next summer, you don’t have to. You get to choose now, Steve._

_Steve: I’ve always made money off my abs._

_Tony: You can make money off your brain now, too. That’s the point of this. If you want to set a boundary that you only do one shirtless/naked/something in between shoot a year, you’re allowed. Eat the donuts, Stevearino. We’ll make it work._

Steve was busy marveling at that text when Amelia’s came in.

_Amelia: I tell him things that make you seem human to him, the way I tell you things that make him seem human to you._

_Amelia: If you two would just talk, it would save me a lot of time._

Steve smiled despite himself and replied.

_Steve: I’m going to a hockey game with him tomorrow._

_Amelia: Excellent. Don’t let him eat too many cheesesteak egg rolls. He always gets sick._

At that, Steve laughed right out loud and drew a few stares from their friends. He waved them off, knowing that he’d never be able to fully capture what was happening on his phone and in his head.

He texted Amelia back with a thumbs up, and then turned his attention to Tony.

_Steve: That still sounds too good to be true, but I trust you._

_Tony: I told you that first day, Steve. You put in the work, and I’ll change your life._

_Tony: And you’re putting in the work. We just gotta figure out why you can’t form those last category of vowels. Your consonants are doing great._

If someone hit Steve with a feather at that moment, he would have fainted. Tony had never paid him a compliment, had never told him he was doing well.

_Steve: I didn’t know._

_Tony: Yeah, Amelia mentioned that I’ve been expecting you to read my mind. Part of her job is to kick my ass when I’m being one and she did. Sorry, Steve. I’ll be better. You’re doing great, I promise._

_Tony: I won’t even bring the marbles to the game tomorrow._

Steve laughed, signed off the conversation, and headed to find Bucky and Nat while he floated on Cloud Nine. Tony thought he was doing a good job. A good job. Tony.

Steve had nearly reached the happy couple, when Bucky stood on a chair and yelled for them all to be quiet.

Most of Nat’s unit, a huge portion of the neighborhood, and the guys Bucky all knew from VA were crowded into McFadden’s - their local bar - to celebrate Nat and Bucky’s engagement. McFadden’s was the kind of place where they didn’t even need to reserve the space for the party, because nearly everyone who would be there on a Friday night would be at the party anyway.

“Shuddup, ya hooligans,” Bucky called. The grin on his face made Steve so happy that tears sprung to his eyes. This was everything his best friend had ever wanted - Nat to be his, and for them to have a family. Now if Steve could just get him a fully functional arm, Bucky would be set for life.

“My old man was a chump,” Bucky started, and a few people booed, as though they thought he was joking.

“My boy speaks the truth,” Winnie called out, and the crowd settled. Steve chuckled as Nat caught his eye and winked. Bucky being public about how much he and his dad didn’t get on was a post-deployment thing, and part of his therapy. So was Winnie’s admission. He thought about Amelia’s often-repeated phrase that love sounds like truth.

“And he would make jokes all the time about how with a little bit of luck, other people would do your work. He’d opine for hours about how women were made for men to marry, and that was their purpose, but with a little bit of luck, I wouldn’t get hooked,” Bucky continued.

“Now, I knew my ma was fourteen thousand times the human he was, even when I was dumb enough to think he was right about other things, but what I’ve really learned recently is that his idea of luck was also completely wrong. It’s not luck to get other people to do your work, or to treat people like garbage, it’s privilege, as Kadija and Michaela like to remind any of us who forget.”

He said it with love in his voice, but Steve saw a slight blush grace the women’s faces. Bucky wasn’t wrong - they were the loudest activists on the block, and sometimes Steve knew they wondered if they overstepped bounds.

“No, don’t go ducking your heads,” Bucky said quickly, and Steve grinned. Bucky read people better than anyone ever gave him credit for. “It’s your role in our little biosystem we’ve got going here, and it’s great. Anyway, my old man was constantly looking for luck so he’d get out of actually being a productive member of his family and our world. I didn’t want that kind of luck, so I went out and made my own.

“And then I met Natasha Romanov, who taught me really quickly that I was gonna have to have just a little bit of luck to deserve her.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Barnes, I already said yes.”

The crowd chuckled.

“Hush, I’m having a moment,” Bucky said, to which Nat flipped him off.

“Your daughter is dancing on my bladder, so hurry it up if you need me here for this moment,” Nat replied.

“George Barnes taught me everything about who I never wanted to be,” Bucky continued. “But I was lucky - truly - to have a ton of other folks around who taught me what love looked like. Sarah Rogers, Ma, Mrs. O'Flanagan, Alistair, Greg from the old pharmacy on Rathstone - all these people, and all of you sitting here, and more folks than I can name, got me to this place.” He was obviously fighting back tears. “So, Pops, turns out I didn’t need your kind of luck, I didn’t need luck at all. I needed love, and man, have I gotten it. I want to toast Nat for saying yes, and Ma, Sarah, and Stevie for being my first family, and all of you for being family now.”

“Cheers,” Sam called out, leading it all. Nat pulled Bucky down off the chair and kissed him soundly. Then she did, in fact, get up and head for the bathroom. With a chuckle, Steve made his way over to the table.

“Nice speech, Buck,” Steve said as he pulled the other man into a hug.

“Been working on it for a while,” Bucky replied.

“I’m so happy for you,” Steve said seriously, and leaned his forehead against Bucky’s. They clasped the back of each other’s necks, like they’d been doing for most of their lives, and rested there for a moment.

“Also, I saw you grinning at your phone earlier,” Bucky said, “and everyone who makes you smile is in this room, so what gives?”

“Tony’s taking me to the Rangers’ game tomorrow. Sitting in a hoity toity box and everything,” Steve said.

Bucky let out a low whistle. “Moving on up, Rogers.”

Steve must have made a face he didn’t even register, because Bucky quickly continued. “Hey, none of that nonsense. This is good. Enjoying the fancy life don’t mean you’re fancy, Rogers. We’ll always know you’re the little shit who broke the windows in the barber shop when Mr. Agnew was mean to Ma.”

Steve snorted. “He was so mad.”

“You’re still that little shit, no matter what your body looks like, or voice sounds like, punk,” Bucky said. “Just let me know if taking a piss in a gold plated toilet, or whatever they got there, makes it smell better or sommin.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and pulled Bucky in for a hug. “So happy for you, man.”

“Thanks, Stevie. I’m happy for me, too.”

* * *

_WhatsApp: Buck_

_Steve: just a regular toilet_

_Bucky: what a fucking let down._

_Bucky: what’s the fancy seats worth if you don’t get a gold toilet_

There wasn’t really any response to that, so Steve just pocketed his phone and took in his surroundings. They were in what Tony had referred to as a ‘luxury suite’. It had a bar, food, plush seating, and a private area of chairs out in the arena if you wanted to focus on the game. Which Steve definitely did - after he ate these famous cheesesteak egg rolls.

Tony was chatting to the guy behind the bar, and Steve heard his name and tuned in.

“Yeah, just us tonight, Marco,” Tony replied. “Steve’s my newest client, and he’s been working real hard. Didn’t want to force him to mingle.”

“Oh, so we have a real hockey fan?”

Tony must have nodded, because Marco called to him. “What do you think will shake Kreider out of his funk?”

Steve turned. “Honestly? I have no idea, but he better find it, because his line isn’t working without him.”

Marco snorted. “Zibby looks like a lost lamb out there without his buddy.”

“We pay Zibby a lot of money to get the puck to the net, and I don’t give a fuck if he’s sad about something. Keep it off the ice,” Steve replied.

“Harsh, Rogers,” Tony said with a laugh.

“Oh, Tones, that’s down right polite compared to the shit I usually hear,” Marco said with a laugh. “Now, let’s talk goal tenders.”

Steve soon lost himself in a fascinating conversation with Marco and only remembered he was there with Tony when the announcer called that they were going to announce the lineups. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of ice time, so he headed for the arena seats. He was surprised to find Tony there, sipping a beer.

“Goose Island,” Steve said. “Woulda squared you for a whiskey guy.”

“I am,” Tony said, “but I’m also a porter guy. And you, I see, really are a hockey guy.”

Steve laughed and settled in next to Tony. “Guilty as charged.”

“For how long?”

“As long as I can remember,” Steve replied. “I wanted to play so badly when I was little, but never could. Just lived out my dreams by watching them on TV.”

“Why could’n you play?”

“Hockey’s fucking expensive,” Steve said simply. “Ma couldn’t afford it.”

“When did your dad leave?”

The way Tony said the word ‘leave’ meant that Tony knew exactly where Joseph Rogers had died. Steve had a choice in that moment - he could play it off like he did with everyone else, or he could tell the truth.

“You know he didn’t leave,” Steve replied softly. “I’m sure you background checked me within an inch of my life.”

Tony was quiet for a minute. “You’re right. But I asked Amelia what you usually tell people. Whatever game you play with your history, I’ll play along. At some point, a reporter might dig it up, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“My dad died in prison and he was there because he broke my jaw and put my ma in a coma,” Steve replied. “He knocked me so good that I couldn’t see right for a while, and it made life pretty hard. We were lucky that the detective who worked the case was really thorough and made sure Joe went away for a long time. It was in the news, so you’re right, someone will dig it up.”

“The only reason they haven’t already is that they just haven’t looked,” Tony said. “But I’ve also had someone from my team pushing those stories down the algorithm and doing some basic search engine hygiene so they’re not on the first few pages of results.”

“That’s good,” Steve said. “It was one of the things I had to think through, if Ma woulda wanted everything dragged up again.”

“Your mother broke her husband’s back defending you, I think that’s an okay thing for people to know,” Tony commented.

Steve nodded. “I don’t like pity.”

“Who does,” Tony said with a shrug. In that moment, Steve realized that they might not be that different in how they think about their fathers. Since Amelia had told him small pieces of Tony’s life, Steve had done a few deep dives into the Stark family history - and not liked anything he saw.

The pair were quiet for a minute. Steve was about to say something else, but the lineups started getting called, and the game was underway. He stood for the National Anthem, and then lost himself in the frenzy of hockey. At the first intermission, he went to the bathroom, got more snacks, and then chit chatted a bit with Marco.

The second period turned out to be excessively boring, which led to a lot of small talk between Steve and Tony. Steve found out that Tony’s favorite food on the planet was pizza from a very specific place on Bleeker in the Village, and that he thought hockey was okay, but his personal favorite sport was baseball. The statistics, Tony had said with a dreamy look in his eye, and Steve’s heart had done a funny thing.

They talked about their friends - Steve told him about the engagement party, and Tony told him about Pepper, Rhodey, and Kerrigan.

“I never thought I was a kid person,” Tony said, when talking about his goddaughter. “And then Rhodey put this squalling child into my arms, and she just took my heart. I’m still not sure I’m a kid person, but I’m definitely a Kerrigan person.”

In the middle of the third period, things were tense on the ice. The Caps had them on the backfoot, and the Rangers needed 2 goals to win. Steve was nearly chewing his fingernails off when Tony’s voice softly registered.

“My dad had untreated bipolar disorder. He knew he had it for most of my life, and refused to do anything about it. Refused to get treatment, refused to get on mediation, refused to acknowledge it. It made him… Well, everything about him was hard to live with. I don’t blame the disease at all - lots of people live with bipolar who aren’t abusive assholes, but it was an element of Howard that explained some of his wild swings.”

Steve held his breath, wondering why Tony was telling him all of this.

“The media said his suicide was unexplainable, but it wasn’t. It was very, very explainable, and he told me he was going to make that choice before he did, we just hid that bit from everyone. We got matching daddy baggage, I think, and I figured you should know.”

Without looking at Steve, Tony left his seat and went back into the suite.

And Steve watched the Rangers come back and win the game without registering anything that happened on the ice. The itch that had been present in him to know Tony went wild - what did he mean that Howard told him? What did untreated bipolar look like? What were in those ellipses that Tony didn’t speak?

And why was Steve’s instinct to wrap Tony in cotton and never let anyone hurt him again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song in this week's chapter is sung by Eliza's father in the musical - ["Little Bit 'O Luck"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jfkaf70SYM).
> 
> Tune in next week to hear them tell their respective families about their night.


	8. Chapter 8

“So it was a good night?”

Tony nodded absently as he chopped vegetables for salad. He was at the Rhodes’ for dinner - but he couldn’t get his brain out of the box from the night before. The way Steve’s eyes lit up at everything, but he was clearly trying so hard to not make a big deal out of anything. How the air crackled between them a few times, how something in him both snapped and settled when Steve told him the truth about Joseph Rogers.

How his fingers still itched to touch Steve, 24-hours after they left the box.

The day had been torture on Tony’s nerves. Steve had worked diligently - he was reading various forms of poetry out loud to learn different rhythms of speaking. Today’s focus had been Mary Oliver’s poetry.

_“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness,” Steve read out loud. “It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” His eyes found Tony’s. “My god.”_

_“I know, it’s really powerful. Can you read it like she wrote it?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“She put the line breaks in for a reason,” Tony commented, and understanding dawned on Steve’s face.”_

He cleared his throat and began again, and the way he recited it that time brought actual tears to Tony’s eyes. Still too Brooklyn, but fuck if he wasn’t right that the man had something special.

“Tones,” Rhodey said as he snapped his fingers in front of Tony’s eyes. “If I had known that all it took was a walking Dortio to get you to shut up, I would have hired one a long time ago.”

“You love my dulcet tones,” Tony countered.

“Like I love KP,” Rhodey retorted, and Tony giggled. This part of their friendship, this common call-and-response, had been a central part of it all since the early days. Rhodey expressed love best through jokes, which was good because when they first met, Tony had no idea how to receive love at all.

Now it was a little easier to understand that Amelia, Rhodey, and Pepper loved him. Not perfectly easy, but easier. Someone else ever doing it was unfathomable, but he could accept it from the three of them.

But any idea that Steve Rogers could some day was anathema. He didn’t fuck clients - it was a rule that he’d only broken twice and both times it was to the great detriment of each of them - and he didn’t do relationships. Pepper and Amelia maintained that was why Ty could keep sniffing around and acting inappropriate; if Tony would just try to make it work with someone past one night, both Ty and the press would shut up.

“So what’s the deal with him?” Rhodey asked from his position at the stove.

“What do you mean?”

Rhodey made a sound suspiciously close to a snort, and Tony knew he was in for it. “Tones, this is me. If we could drop this fucking act that you’re putting on for everyone else, that would save us sometime.”

Tony was quiet.

“Are you into him because he can save you from Ty, or are you -”

“Fuck off,” Tony snapped. “He’s special, that’s all. I’m not into him, I’m not -”

“Tony.”

“Jim,” Tony said in a voice that he hoped sounded a lot calmer than he felt. “He is basically at the start of his career, and has potential pouring out of his pores. All I am doing is making sure that he realizes that potential. Am I getting invested in the idea of his success? Yes, because that is my job. That’s it.”

The silence that followed that statement was an active thing - a living creature breathing in the space between them. Tony knew he was either completely lying or was adjacent to lying, and he could imagine which one Rhodey felt he was. Before either of them could speak, however, Pepper breezed into the kitchen.

“Oh, good,” she said, “you remembered to defrost the sauce.”

“How many strays did she bring this time?” Rhodey said with a chuckle.

“Three,” Pepper said and Tony could hear the wince in her voice even without turning. Personality wise, no one was quite sure where Kerrigan came from. She was bubbly and extroverted where both of her parents were reserved, a walking golden retriever of friendship. At 7, she struggled to understand why changing plans on her mother was so hard for Pepper, and Pepper was determined not to make Kerrigan’s entire childhood about her OCD. The balance was hard to strike at times.

“Do we at least know all of them?” Tony asked. He turned from the counter to face Pepper, who nodded.

“We ran into some of the girls from her soccer team at the skating rink. They were all there with the Pfifer’s nanny - the one who doesn’t know her ass from a balloon - and when Kerrigan told them we were having Amelia food, they all looked far too excited for me to say no.”

As though summoned by her name, Amelia appeared in the doorway up from the basement. “Jim, I understand that you are used to living amongst boys who do not have their mamas, but I - oh! Tony! You’re here already!”

“I let Steve go early tonight,” Tony replied, and did not miss Amelia’s eyebrow arch at that comment.

Neither did Pepper.

“Early,” Pepper said slowly. “Last night you took him to a hockey game, and tonight you let him go early. Is he ready for Anna?”

Tony snorted out a laugh. “Oh, lord no. I just heard from the peanut gallery that perhaps I was working him too hard.”

Amelia grabbed her chest chest dramatically. “I’m sorry?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, Meels, you were right.”

The older woman broke into a dance that looked suspiciously like twerking. Rhodey and Pepper laughed, and Tony was about to tell her to cut it out, that she’d had her fun, when Kerrigan entered the kitchen.

“Oh! We’re dancing? Why are we dancing?”

“Uncle Tony told Amelia that she was right,” Pepper informed her daughter.

Kerrigan’s face lit up and she grinned at him. “Did you break something when you admitted it?”

Tony rolled his eyes and reached to pull her into a hug. “Yeah, yeah, everyone’s a critic.”

The kitchen only got more chaotic from there, and Tony found himself relaxing into it. He’d felt such jealousy the night before when Steve described his block, but now he realized that he had his own block, albeit a bit smaller.

_“They have no idea, really, about my life,” Steve said with a laugh. “They think I just sit somewhere for a few minutes, and someone takes my picture. They don’t know about my diet, or that my skincare regimen would bankrupt a small country, or about any of the drama over those few shoots I did for James Charles when I was desperate for cash.”_

_Tony chuckled. “Surely some of them have a YouTube account, or have seen a season of Top Model or something.”_

_Steve smiled. “You’re right, let me rephrase. Whatever pieces of my life that they know, I don’t know that they do. Kajica over on the 4th floor of 1298 might have a shrine to me, I have no idea. So I guess that’s what I find so wonderful - I have no idea. They treat me like Sarah’s kid who knows how to fix a toilet when their supers are late.”_

_“That’s who you want to be? Fundamentally, Sarah’s kid who can fix a toilet?”_

_“It’s who I am,” Steve said simply. “I was in a corset, heels, and a wig a few months ago in some run down palace in the middle of France for a shoot for Vogue Japan. I checked my phone on my break and there was a message from Winnie asking if I could order her more of her favorite toilet paper from Amazon because Bucky kept forgetting.”_

_Tony broke out in laughter, both at the visual and at the fact that Winnie Barnes had favorite toilet paper. “Just because I’m teaching you how to turn accents on and off doesn’t mean you won’t be that man, you know.”_

_The side of Steve’s mouth quirked up into a grin. “I know that now. Didn’t for a bit, but… yeah. I get it now.”_

_They were quiet for a few seconds before Steve spoke. “Amelia says your family is pretty fantastic, too.”_

_It took Tony a minute to realize that he was referring to the Rhodes’, because as often as he thought of them as his family, he rarely heard it referenced out loud. “They are.”_

_Somehow, Tony knew that if he left it there, everything would be fine, but that it would be better if he continued._

_“Pepper’s physical family, like blood, we’re cousins of some sort. You know my story - everyone does - but, basically, Pep’s who counts. Rhodey came with college, and then Kerrigan and Amelia came later, but... “_

_“But they’ll text you about Amazon orders when you’re at the Oscars,” Steve supplied, and Tony realized he had just as much to learn from Steve as Steve had from him._

“Uncle Tony.” Kerrigan’s voice shook him out of his daydream.

“Yeah, Kerrygold?”

“I’m not butter,” she said with an eye roll.

“But you’re smoother than it,” he replied, which earned him a second eye roll. “What’s up?”

“My friend Ashline says there is no way you’re cool enough to have a selfie with Jojo,” Kerrigan reported.

“Well, that kind of slander cannot go without response,” Tony said, and followed Kerrigan to her friends.

* * *

_WhatsApp: Steve Rogers_

_Steve: Sorry for the big Amazon order._

_Tony: What?_

_Steve: I meant to put it on my personal card, but the account is saved to the corporate one, and I spent a bunch. I’m sorry._

_Tony: Did you go over 10k?_

_Steve: WHAT? NO._

_Tony: Then you’re fine._

_Tony: What did you get?_

_Steve: Sorry, I’m still having a heart attack that you think I could spend 10k on Amazon._

_Tony: I love that you live on a budget_

_Steve: You should consider it._

_Tony: Whatcha get?_

_Steve: a Kindle? And then a bunch of books amelia said I’d like_

_Steve: oh, and a salad spinner. Mine broke._

_Tony: did you get a zoodle attachment for the spinner? Those look fun_

_Steve: I have a whole zoodler thingy, I eat them all the time_

_Tony: by choice? Or for The Diet? Because I can get you out of zoodling._

_Steve: I would pledge my undying love to you if i could eat actual pasta more than once a month_

_Tony: God, that’s all it takes? Wait until I get you top billing on Colbert_

_Steve: That’s my first born_

_Tony: *takes notes*_

_Tony: what books?_

_Steve: *sends screenshot*_

_Tony: ah, she’s got you onto nora roberts. It was only a matter of time._

_Steve: I liked the fire jumping one_

_Steve: I’ve never done a firefighter shoot. That could be fun_

Tony nearly dropped his phone at the sudden image of Steve dressed as a firefighter. He took three deep breaths, bit hard on his fist, and then typed back.

_Tony: I’ll look into it._

_Tony: By the way, you watching the game tonight?_

_Steve: i’m good at doing the exercises while I watch, i promise_

_Tony: Not what I asked, but good to know._

_Tony: We’re gonna need to work on you only answering the question people ask._

_Tony: Again, are you watching the game tonight?_

_Steve: Yes._

_Tony: Good job._

_Tony: Was thinking we could watch together? I know Amelia made ghormeh sabzi today._

_Steve: you coming down for the hockey or the food?_

“The model, Steve. I’m coming down for the model.”

_Tony: food, and to hear you yell at Gritty_

_Steve: Door’s open_

* * *

“So he just sat on your couch all night and watched hockey?” Cressida asked. “Can you put a straw in that water bottle so I can have a drink?”

Steve obliged. “Yeah, and it’s the third time he’s done it since we went to the game.”

Cressida took three long gulps. “The best part about a Lane Bryant shoot is that they remember we need snacks.”

“Is that my cue?” Steve asked.

“Why yes, Work Husband, I would love some cheese, and when you come back, some more details on why I haven’t been informed every single time that perfect ass was on your couch.”

“Your obsession with Tony’s ass is an issue,” Steve replied as he went to fetch some food.

“So is yours,” Cressida called, and Steve could hear the smirk in her voice even though he couldn’t see it on her face.

They were three weeks out from the Vanity Fair party and Steve had wrangled a morning off to spend with Cress at a shoot she had in Midtown. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the magic of their job. In two hours, Cress had gone from someone who hadn’t washed her hair in three days and was covered in terrycloth in various states of disrepair, to a woman rocking a three-piece suit and the highest heels Steve knew she could manage wearing. The transformation wasn’t just visual, it was in her entire being. Cress wasn’t interested in being an actress because she didn’t want to have to tell stories with her mouth, she said. She was happy telling them with her body.

He used to feel that way, but the longer he worked with Tony, the more he thought maybe he could have both.

Maybe he even wanted both.

He returned to where Cress was sitting just as she was called back to the front of the camera. She popped a piece of cheese in her mouth and asked him to hang around if he could.

“I got nowhere to be until puck drop,” he replied and her eyes went wide.

“Again?”

Steve felt a blush creep over his cheeks. “It’s work, too. I yell in my normal voice and he makes me shift some of the words, and it’s helpful.”

_And we also talk about you, and Rhodey, and Bucky, and the dog I really want to have when I retire, and how Tony is fascinated with gardening but can’t figure out how to do it, and a million other little things that run through my head when I’m jerking off these days._

“Sure. Helpful,” she said with a smirk.

“Brightman! You coming over here or fucking around with your boy?” The photographer called.

“Well, I’m not coming over here,” Cressida said with a bawdy laugh so they all knew just what she meant, “so let’s see what you can do.”

“Brightman, I swear,” the man replied with a chuckle.

Steve watched the whole tableau with warmth. One of the gifts Cressida had given them in her friendship was the power to be himself at all times. She taught him the difference between vulnerability and oversharing, and how being different versions of yourself for different people didn’t mean you were fake, it just meant you were human.

Cressida’s public self was brash, and sarcastic, and tough. She was known for being fiercely protective of other women and minorities in the industry, for never apologizing about her body, and for never being shy about telling reporters exactly what she thought of their questions sometimes. To him, Cress was a marshmallow.

“Both of me are true, Steve,” Cress had said once when he commented on it, “there are just only some people who’ve earned the fullness of me.”

As he observed her following directions like a pro, and even offering some of her own, he considered that he knew she hated this photographer. He wasn’t offensive or racist - if he was, Cress would have spoken up a lot louder - he just rubbed her the wrong way. Watching them interact, though, and no one would have any idea.

He and Tony had talked the night before about how all of life was acting and he was still chewing on that idea, but what he was especially chewing on was his personal revelation that Tony was someone who saw his backstage self.

_“What is a backstage self?” Steve asked._

_“It’s a sociology theory, a guy named Goffman came up with this idea that all of us have the public presenting self and the self that isn’t public. He referred to it as stages - so the self the audience sees, the self your colleagues see. The person who taught me the theory also added ‘dressing room self’,” Tony said. “That’s who you are when only your inner circle can access you.”_

_“So the differences between front stage and back stage are just about… I don’t know, trust?” Steve asked._

_Tony nodded. “When I get ready to debut a new client, we spend a lot of time talking about their dressing room and backstage selves. I need to know who those people are before I can help craft who they’re going to be on their front stage.”_

_“Is that what we’re doing here?” Steve asked, gesturing around his living room._

_The smile that Tony gave him was soft, and intimate, and stole Steve’s breath. “Nah. I’ve already created your plan. This is just about that Amelia was right, and while you are a little shit to work with, and I want to fire you almost daily, I also like being with you.”_

_Without thinking, the words tumbled from Steve’s mouth. “I like being with you, too.”_

He’d spent most of a very restless night thinking about what that meant, about how for nearly ten days straight now, he’d done something every night with Tony that didn’t involve strictly business things. Sure, they talked shop while they watched hockey, but it was… gentle. Easy.

Normal.

It felt like partners who were in the middle of an intense project and so ‘time off’ wasn’t really an option, but they had other things to do, too. Like have a three-hour debate over if Lewis Hamilton would actually be remembered as better than Michael Schumacher because Lewis’ personality was so… Millennial. Well, and systemic racism.

_“Rogers, you have so much more faith in humans than I do,” Tony laughed. “His stats are just insane, and he still doesn’t get GOAT talk because he’s black.”_

_“I think history will be better about that,” Steve protested._

_Tony’s voice was fond as he replied. “I hope you’re right, I truly do. But he’s also… he’s trying to redefine the sport in a way that I think is great. He’s open about mental health, and social activism. He’s just a different generation and culture than all the old hats of Formula 1.”_

_“Generation shifts mean cultural shifts,” Steve said. “But you’re right on that front - it’s clear the establishment hasn’t embraced him the way he deserves.”_

Three hours, they’d gone back and forth about it - but lazily so. Tony would pull up an interview and they’d analyze it, and then shift subjects to talking about why Steve had such an obsession with Airhead candy, and then back to Lewis.

It was…

It was a night with Buck, or Nat, or Cress.

But better.

And Steve had no idea what to do with that.

“And we’re done,” the production designer called loudly, shaking Steve out of his own brain. Cress pointed to the wardrobe rack, indicating that she’d change quickly and then be over to him. He nodded, and waited patiently. When she was back to being covered in terrycloth and had a slouchy beanie affixed to her head, she ambled back over to him. “Pancakes?”

“Can you?”

“Nope,” Cressida said with a grin, “but I just survived three hours with Pablo and didn’t punch him, so I’m shifting my cheat day.”

Steve laughed and pulled his own hat and gloves from his pockets. They set off down 45th on their way to a diner they both loved on 8th, and Steve tried to ask about Cressida’s family.

She was having none of it.

“If he wasn’t paying you, you’d be dating him,” she stated plainly.

“What?”

“If you weren’t his client, you’d -”

“I am, though,” Steve said firmly. “And there is nothing that has happened that wouldn’t happen between me and Buck, say.”

“You and Buck have multi-day discussions on sociological theory that drove you to spend two hours at The Strand yesterday buying books?”

Steve did not care for her tone.

“Listen, Cress, I’m serious. He’s my boss right now, and then if I sign him, I’ll be his. We are just friends, which is already enough of a surprise. So don’t….”

“Don’t what?” She stopped walking. “Don’t dream for you? Don’t hope that you finally found someone who is worthy of you? Don’t get excited because the look you have in your eyes when you talk about him since your date -”

“Not a date.”

“-at the Garden makes me fucking swoon vicariously?”

“He’s Tony Stark, Cress.” He started walking again and she scampered after him.

“And you’re Steve Rogers,” she replied.

“Cress -”

“Don’t ‘Cress’ me in that tone,” she snapped, and he looked at her sideways as they walked. “I know who he is when you say his name like that, but as far as I know, you’re the only one who knows that he’s seen _Wicked_ seventeen times and has never had a client in it. I think that means something.”

“I think it means that we spend all our waking hours together, and he’s tired of hearing me try to say his stupid phrase correctly,” Steve replied.

She was quiet for a few steps. “I can’t decide if I’m more sad that you might actually believe that, or that you’re actively lying to yourself and to me. You like him, and that’s okay, Steve.”

“Cress, I get that we’re spouses and you think you can read my mind,” Steve said with a slight growl, because truly she was exasperating, “but he is my agent.”

“Oh, like being in love with your agent hasn’t happened in this town?” She snorted. “Please.”

“I don’t even like him like you’re implying, and now you’re throwing around love,” he asked incredulously. “Truly, Cress, you’re reaching. Knock it off.”

“I’m just-”

“Cress,” he said firmly. “Knock it the fuck off.”

Something in his tone must have broken through to her logic center. “Fine. I’ll drop it in exchange for meeting him.”

_Oh this is a terrible idea._

“Fine,” Steve said out loud.

The grin on her face confirmed his first reaction.

This was a terrible idea.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys use some words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Jeh, Politz, HT, and others on the STB server for providing some extra cheering this week. No matter how much I love writing something, I share everything for y'all, and I'm grateful I'm part of a community that answers my call for encouragement when I sound it. They report a deep love of this chapter, so I hope you agree with them.
> 
> A song is woven in here a little, let me know if you catch it.

“No,” Steve said, his jaw set.

“Steve, there is two weeks until the _Vanity Fair_ party.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “You need to be at least somewhat ready for that toe dip. If you slip a few times, it’s no big deal, but you gotta be ready.”

“Why?”

“Are we doing one word at a time tonight?”

Steve clenched his fists. He was so tired of Tony’s tone of voice. The last two weeks of fun nights on the couch had come to an end that evening. They’d gone over, and over, and over Steve’s vocals and he was fucking exhausted.

“I have said your words, I have dressed in your outfits, I have done it all. I’ll do it again tomorrow and not tonight because I am tired and I am going to bed,” Steve said.

He knew his tone sounded like he was talking to a toddler, but he felt like he was.

It had the predictable effect on Tony.

“I swear to FUCK, Rogers, I need you to get your head OUT OF YOUR ASS, because if you don’t, my life is over,” Tony yelled. He was so loud that he nearly shook the glass flower vase next to Steve’s head. “You need to follow my directions, or -”

“I can live my life without you, Tony! If the tides can make do, I think I can too. You know what else can manage without you? The White House. It seems to muddle through without your direct intervention. Tourists seeing the Empire State Building, also okay,” Steve snapped.

“Make your FUCKING POINT,” Tony roared. “I’ve had it UP TO HERE with you obfuscating from the point.”

“THAT IS THE POINT, TONY,” Steve bellowed. “The point is that the whole fucking world does not revolve around you!”

Much to Steve’s surprise, Tony started laughing. Giant, uproarious laughs. They took over his entire body. Steve was shocked into silence as Tony laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Of course it fucking doesn’t,” he finally said, while he wiped tears from his eyes. “I know that. But right now, yours does. Because…”

“Because why?” Steve asked, but he felt all the fight go out of his voice. “Because I’ll embarrass you? Or you’ll lose a bet?”

“How’d ya know?”

Steve’s head snapped to Tony, who had a sheepish grin on his face.

“We need the good whiskey for this,” Tony replied. “Why don’t you come up to my place?”

Steve froze. Tony never invited him to his apartment. All their work took place on Steve’s floor, or in a recording studio that Tony rented, or as they walked around outside. It never took place on Tony’s floor. He found it hard to swallow for a second as he said, “Sure.”

For a long time, Steve had thought that he met Tony in his apartment that first time. When Cressida explained the thing about the penthouse being where parties happened, Steve expected a space set up like a formal event space. Because that first room had couches and a desk, he’d assumed it was Tony’s apartment.

Then, a few months into the arrangement, Tony had Steve meet him in the penthouse kitchen to sign some papers, and found out that Tony really lived on the floor between Steve’s apartment and the penthouse.

_“It’s a special code on the elevator,” Tony said. “I had too many people sneak in, and even a few who just hit my floor because they were drunk. The decision was to hire an elevator operator, or to recode the elevator, so I chose the latter.”_

_“You… You re-coded the elevator,” Steve repeated slowly._

_“It was easier once I put JARVIS in it.”_

As the pair ambled back to the elevator, Tony asked a question. “Are you happy here, Steve?”

Steve stopped walking for a minute. “Yes.”

He was surprised how quickly his answer came, but it was the truth.

Tony turned briefly and smiled; and it was Steve’s favorite in the taxonomy of Tony Smiles. This one was the one that only seemed to happen around Amelia, or when he was talking about Pepper, Rhodey, or Kerrigan. And now, it happened because of something Steve said.

“Good. I was worried giving you half of a building floor was too much, and that this would all be too much, and … well, I’m glad you’re happy.”

They stepped into the elevator, and Tony tapped the wall above the floor buttons three times.

“Good Evening, Sir, Mr. Rogers,” a disembodied British voice spoke, and Steve froze again.

Tony chuckled. “Sorry, Jay, forgot to introduce you first. Steve, this is JARVIS, he runs the show.”

“He’s the magic matchmaker,” Steve said, hearing the awe that had crept into his voice. Everyone who knew who Tony was knew about JARVIS. Steve didn’t know anyone who had actually met the AI before.

“Oh, I quite like that one,” JARVIS replied.

“I read it on Twitter,” Steve confessed.

Both Tony and the AI chuckled. Before Steve could respond, the elevator pinged open to a…

A workshop.

There were discarded carcases of engines and computers in a pile off to the left, Steve was sure he saw the front half of an old Studebaker car in the far corner, and the whole thing smelled like motor oil, slightly rotten pizza, and feet.

Tony Stark was a slob.

Steve was unprepared for how happy that made him.

“It’s a mess, I know,” Tony said, waving a hand dismissively. “Meels refuses to come more than once a month because I can’t remember to live like an adult human. She’s due next week, actually, so it’ll smell better then.”

Steve chuckled as he followed Tony through a maze of tables and screens. “I will admit, this is about the last thing I expected when the doors opened.”

Tony turned and grinned at him, a quick mouth movement that still managed to send sparks down Steve’s spine. “If I hadn’t been my dad’s kid, I’d probably be a car mechanic, to be honest.”

“So CarbonWard isn’t your dream?”

They entered a cozy living area - overstuffed couches, and a few afghans tossed over the backs of chairs. A coffee table was piled with magazines, and one wall was lined with bookshelves. It wasn’t a shelf for show, either. This one was full of books in all shapes and sizes, organized by a method unclear to Steve’s immediate attention. The contrast to the penthouse - with its staged energy and bookshelves organized by color - was so sharp that Steve had trouble remembering they both belonged to the same man for a minute.

“Drink?” Tony asked as he walked to the bookshelf.

“Um, sure. Vodka tonic if you have it,” Steve said.

“Tito’s okay?” At Steve’s affirmative nod, Tony opened a cabinet and pulled out the elements for their drinks. He then opened another door, which turned out to be a mini-fridge, and retrieved a cold bottle of Fever Tree tonic water, along with a lime. So, this place is a mess, but Tony is still Tony, Steve grinned to himself.

“I haven’t been fully honest with you,” Tony said as he prepared Steve’s drink. “About why we’re working together.”

Steve considered this. “So you don’t believe I have a bright and wide future?”

“Oh, no, I absolutely do,” Tony replied. He settled himself on his end of the couch, passed Steve his drink, and took a sip of his own. “Even more so the longer that we’ve worked together. But how it started… Listen… I…”

“Did you sell a child or something, Tony?”

Tony barked out a laugh. Steve had never seen him so nervous and he was dreading what he was about to find out.

“I made a bet with my ex-boyfriend that I could train you to convince Anna that you were a New England blue blood.”

Steve’s brain felt foggy.

“I’m a bet?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “You are, and I’m sorry. I’m…”

“I’m a fucking bet?”

Tony nodded. “Technically every person I work with is a bet. I’m betting on their future, I’m betting-”

“But that’s not what this was, was it?” Steve asked. He focused every ounce of energy he had on not losing his temper.

“No,” Tony said.

The tone of his voice, the grief in it, cut through some of Steve’s confusion. This element of it all was something Tony regretted. Steve had gotten to know Tony enough at this point to know that sometimes his mouth worked faster than his brain - was this simply one of those times?

Plus, if Steve didn’t know better, he’d think Tony was about to throw up.

“Can you tell me what it is?” Steve kept his voice measured, but since all of his focus went into keeping his emotions in check, he sounded like a 40s gangster even to himself.

Tony’s mouth quirked into a grin. “Or you’re gonna shake down my girl?”

“She’s got a pair of gams on her, see,” Steve replied with exaggeration, “and I think I can get her to sing.”

“By talking about her legs?”

“I thought gams were breasts,” Steve said.

Tony waited a beat and then began to howl with laughter. The tension in the room shattered, and Steve joined in. Soon they were both laughing so hard, tears were running down their faces. Several minutes later, Tony collected himself.

“All I can see now is legs growing out… oh god, I have got to tell Pep that one,” he said as he collected himself. “Anyway, about the bet. Have you ever heard of Tyberius Stone?”

“No, but he sounds like a Scooby Doo villain,” Steve replied.

Tony looked thoughtful. “He could be, actually. But no, he’s just the son of my father’s best friend. And…”

If he was with Buck, or Sam, or even Clint, he’d jump in at this point. Steve would take the fact that they trailed off as some sort of indication that they wanted the subject changed, and he’d take care of it. With Tony, however, he knew that was the wrong move. Instead, he looked at Tony’s eyes and willed the other man to make eye contact with him.

Tony cast his eyes everywhere but Steve for several minutes.

Steve made sure his eyes never left Tony’s face.

They traced the jaw Steve longed to cup in his hand, the ear he dreamt about nibbling, the lips he fantasized about, and then always came back to the eyes that held so much. Steve was in the business of making his face tell a story - he knew what to think to make his eyes look a certain way, convey a certain emotion. Over the last few months, he’d learned some things about Tony’s eyes.

Like that he loved how they sparkled when Tony was feeling mischievous - which was often since the Garden.

Like that they actually seemed to harden when Tony was angry - which was less and less at Steve lately.

Like that their default state around Amelia was ‘warm’ - which made Steve bite his lip with longing at the dream Tony could look at Steve like that someday.

Tonight’s eyes were new.

His pupils were dilated and his eyes looked glassy.

Fear.

Whatever Tony needed to tell Steve, Tony was _afraid_. Afraid of the thing or of Steve’s reaction, Steve wasn’t sure, but something in Steve’s need to protect snapped into place.

“Tony, whatever you have to tell me, as long as you didn’t sell me off to a harem somewhere, it’s going to be okay,” Steve said softly.

Tony chuckled, but the sound was dry. Finally, he looked back at Steve. “What I’m about to say, you will be the only person on the planet who knows, okay? Not Rhodey, not Pep, not… I’ve never told anyone. I have other secrets, of course, things that they know that I may tell you someday, but this one…”

Tony whistled out air through his teeth, like he was deflating. “In order for you to understand why I took this bet, you gotta understand my dad.”

Steve felt his eyebrows raise - that wasn’t what he was expecting at all. “Whatever it is, Tony, it’s fine. I think we’ve earned some secrets over the past few months.”

The room was heavy with something as Tony began to speak.

“The night before Howard… no, I gotta go back further than that. My 10th birthday, yeah, that’s a good place to start. Okay, my 10th birthday. I wanted a dinosaur theme because I was ten -”

“- and dinosaurs are cool.”

“The coolest,” Tony said with a smile. “My nanny then was a girl from Ukraine named Olga, and her English wasn’t amazing. Her blow job skills sounded like they were from what I could hear from Howard’s bedroom, but that’s neither here nor there. I think she genuinely tried her best with me, but she wasn’t in the U.S. to take care of kids. She wanted a green card, and I was her tool to get one. We’d practice her English together, but mostly she took me to museums and let me explore. I had other nannies who were much more hands on, ones who remind me of Amelia, but Olga wasn’t a gem.

“Anyway, Olga and I had spent a lot of time at the Museum of Natural History that year - they had an interactive exhibit where you could touch amber and make your own fossil out of synthetic stuff.”

“I am positive you know exactly what that compound is,” Steve said with a laugh.

Tony smiled. “It was resin with food coloring, you can buy it all off of Amazon now, and I have made several quote fossils unquote for Kerrigan. But my 10th birthday, I wanted dinosaurs.”

“I’m guessing that’s not what you got,” Steve said.

“No,” Tony confirmed. “I got a formal, five-course meal with the Stones. That was the first night I met Ty, actually, because they had lived in Paris before that point. I’m sure Howard mentioned that Mr. Stone had a kid my age before then, but it wasn’t significant enough to me to really register.

“But oh boy, did I find out that was not the same for Ty. Mr. Stone had told Ty everything about me - down to the fact that I wet the bed until I was four. They conveniently left out that I wet the bed because Howard would stumble into my room at all hours and scream at me for killing my mother, and I had to pretend to be asleep but sometimes I had to pee, but nevertheless, Ty knew.”

Steve felt every atom in his body freeze. He knew what being that little boy in that bed felt like. He knew the terror of a screaming father, and with Tony’s quick definition, he was curled up in his bedroom in Brooklyn, hearing Joe scream about how Steve’s sick little body wasn’t worth keeping alive.

_My god, we do have matching daddy issues._

“When we were dismissed to play, I pulled out my Nintendo. We played Duck Hunt -”

“I have always wanted to play that,” Steve said.

Tony looked at him, surprised. “Oh, right, wrong generation.”

“Disposable income, too,” Steve said.

Tony’s face did something Steve couldn’t recognize, but then he continued speaking. “I had a N64, and Mario Kart, but it was my birthday, and I wanted to play Duck Hunt because I was fucking good at it, and I wanted to show off.

“I won the Duck Hunt game, but Ty spent the whole time complaining that we should be playing Mario Kart and what a lame baby I was for liking Duck Hunt, and I just kept getting more and more frustrated. I don’t remember what I said, exactly, but I remember Ty hitting me.”

Steve clenched his fists.

“And I remember that when I told Howard later, Howard said I must have deserved it, and that Ty was a much better son to his parents than I was to him, and I had a lot to learn from Ty,” Tony finished. He downed his drink and got up from the couch. “Another?”

Steve nodded.

Tony kept talking as he fixed another round. “And I’m sure if I had a better support system at that point - not Olga, is really what I mean - I would have fought back mentally at least. I would have known that I’m not Ty and I didn’t want to be, but instead....”

“You just wanted to make your father proud,” Steve whispered. He saw Tony’s breath hitch.

Tony looked over his shoulder. “Exactly.” He went back to pouring, plunking ice, and adding a garnish, before presenting Steve his drink and settling back on the couch. “And somewhere along the line, making my father proud meant being like Ty.”

“Being with Ty, too?”

Tony shook his head. “Howard was a homophobe until his last breath. Couldn’t let the public know, of course, since CW had many prominent LGBTQ clients. We donated scads of money to the right organizations, and went to all the right parties, but no. Howard would be appalled to know that I’m pan.”

Again, Steve could sympathize. Joe had been similarly appalled to learn that Steve was gay - and telling his scumbag father that fact in prison right before he died had been a crowning moment in Steve’s life.

“Ty is part of my life entirely against my consent,” Tony said, “and yet he is so wound into every aspect, I have no way to get him out.”

“But you would?”

Tony snorted. “After I get my shipment of unicorns, yes. At this point, most of our social circle expects us to get married, and I think most of them assume we’re dating. It’s generally easier to let them all believe that than to do anything else.”

“What about if you, I don’t know, want to date someone else?”

Tony shrugged. “Fucking around on your significant other is excused and even expected on a certain level, so if I get caught making out at a party with someone who isn’t Ty, they all assume Ty knows and is okay with it. I’m sure it’s vice versa with him. Neither of us has been attached to anyone else long-term since we were in high school, to be honest, and it all kind of feeds the public narrative.”

“That’s…. That’s absurd,” Steve sputtered. He knew rich folks were weird, but…

“You are not wrong,” Tony confirmed, “but it’s how it is. Which brings me to the thing no one else knows, and then to the bet. Although, I’m not sure I’ve told Pep the Duck Hunt story either, but anyway. The night before Howard died by suicide, he showed me his will. I was to get it notarized the next day so that it went into effect upon his death. In it, he sold the controlling interest of CarbonWard to Ty, since he was convinced I would never amount to anything.”

Steve nearly dropped the glass he was holding. “He what?”

Tony nodded calmly. “Obviously, I never notarized it, also because getting our lawyer to forge Howard’s signature was his thing and not mine, but I found out a few years ago that Ty has a copy. He’s never contested it in court or anything, because he has enough money, but he has it. It exists.”

“But _you_ are CW, Tony, you and JARVIS. What CW was before you took over and what it is now are so different!”

“Thank you,” Tony said simply, and something about his tone warmed Steve. “I think so, too, and I’m pretty positive that I could completely defeat the unnotarized will of a mentally unstable dead man, but I’m not particularly into those kinds of risks.”

“Fair,” Steve said.

“Which brings us to the bet,” Tony said. “You can imagine that I’m sometimes a desperate idiot around Ty.”

Steve struggled to imagine what a desperate or idiotic Tony would look like. Those two words weren’t even in Steve’s vocabulary for -

 _Except if he was desperate for you,_ his libido interrupted.

“He was being his odious self at the Tom Ford afterparty, and I had already decided you were something so special I’d probably sell my kidney for you. I knew shifting your accent would be hard, but possible, because there’s…”

Tony trailed off, then finished his drink and placed the empty glass on the coffee table. He leaned slightly into Steve’s space, and Steve felt his heart race slightly.

“I’m annoyed at how special you are,” Tony said calmly, but his voice was rich with warmth. “I’ve been asking around about you, both overtly and covertly. I’ve let the town know that I want you, that I’ve bought you out of your contract with Faces, and that where you go next is your call, but I want it to be me. I’ve floated your new asking prices, I’ve started playing hardball, and I’ve let them know that you’re worth it. Whenever someone balks, I hand them the number for Christian or Tom or Betsy’s booking agents, and they sing your praises so loudly that the person is desperate to get in on the ground floor of Steve Rogers Incorporated. I’ve started an LLC for you, because you are about to be a brand, that is how good you are.”

“I’m a yokel from Brooklyn, Tony.”

“You’re a goddamn superstar, Steven,” Tony said. “You’re kind, and a hard worker, and funny, and every single fucking model you have ever worked with wants to work with you again. Bodies get you far in this industry, but being good to work with gives you longevity. The days of the diva models are over - people don’t put up with bullshit anymore. I’ve been digging into your Cressida as well, by the way, let me know if she’d take a meeting.”

Steve started laughing. “She’s been bullying me to meet you, I think she’d lose her mind to have a formal meeting.”

“She’s special, and a badass, and I have a thing for helping women make the money they deserve,” Tony said simply.

Steve’s world shifted.

Before that statement, he admired Tony. He was cranky with him a lot, and Steve spent more time rolling his eyes at Tony or trying to mentally maim him than was probably healthy, but he admired him.

He was also really thirsty for him, because he was a male-attracted human with eyes.

But with that statement, he fell into something else. Something that felt tight in his chest, something that made him want to march right back to his apartment and start working on his accent until he was hoarse. Something that made him proud to be known around the town as someone Tony chose, because he realized that he was choosing Tony right back.

“The night of the Tom Ford show,” Tony said, interrupting Steve’s life altering mental process, “I made a bet with him. If I could get Anna to believe that your Blue Blood accent was real, then he owed me his contact list, which is legendary.”

“And if Anna doesn’t buy it?”

“I marry him,” Tony said.

“You cannot marry him,” Steve said immediately. “I mean it, Tony, you cannot -”

“Whoah, Big Guy, preaching to the choir,” Tony said with a chuckle. “I can’t, but I will if we lose. So that’s why I pushed so hard, why I am pushing so hard. It’s about your career, and I do believe in you, and none of that was a lie.”

“But this is true, too,” Steve said.

“This is true, too,” Tony repeated.

Steve had a million more questions, and he still wasn’t sure he understood why Tony was willing to bet something that big on him, but he knew this was enough for one night.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said slowly, thinking of how Winnie would want him to respond to this. “I’m not angry, per se, but I’m something. I’m gonna head out and think about it, if that’s okay?”

Tony nodded. “Thanks for not punching me when you found out.”

“Jesus, Tony, I would never… We have got to get you new friends,” Steve replied.

Tony laughed, and the sound had some pain in it that hurt Steve’s chest. They arranged to meet the next morning and Steve headed back to his apartment to process everything he learned - both about Tony, and himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Without You" is one of my favorite songs of the empowered Eliza, but Steve needed to make his point a little earlier. Hope y'all are okay with that.
> 
> Next week, time for another song. This time? Steve's gonna sing about rain.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting fic in These Times has always been a matter of spoon management. I've written thousands of words in one sitting, and gone weeks without typing at all. As it's all dragged on, though, it's gotten so much harder - even on this fic I love to the depths of my soul. I know that engaging with fandom has gotten harder as well, and many of you have expressed that commenting is more spoons than you have. So know that I'm taking each comment, DM, emoji on this work exceptionally dearly. I know what it might be costing you and I bless it more than you know.

“Just one more time, Steve,” Tony said and he could hear the heaviness in his soul. He’d never been more tired of talking about rain, Spain, or hurricanes before.

“In ‘artford, FUCK,” Steve said. “Why can’t I do this? I don’t understand.”

“Maybe you’re too worked up,” Tony offered. “Take a few deep breaths, and then try again.”

“It’s midnight,” Steve said, wearily.

“And the Vanity Fair party is next week,” Tony replied evenly. “Give it one more go and then we’ll call it a night.”

Steve was quiet for a few minutes, and Tony let the silence hang.

“The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain,” Steve said slowly.

And perfectly.

Completely.

Perfectly.

“What was that?” Tony said slowly. He’d been lying down on the couch, but at the sound of the exquisitely formed vowels, he began to move.

“The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain,” Steve repeated, a little faster.

“Where does it fall?” Tony asked, just in case it only worked if Steve said the whole phrase.

“Spain. The plain in Spain, which is not where hurricanes happen.”

“Where else don’t those happen?”

“In Hartford, Hereford, or Hampshire,” Steve said.

At this point, they were both on their feet with tears in their eyes.

“You did it,” Tony said.

“I did,” Steve said. “We did.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” Tony cried, and pulled him into a hug. “You did it.”

“Tell me something else to say,” Steve said as he pulled back and wiped his eyes. Tony cast about the room and found a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He flipped to Sonnet 18 and handed the book over.

Steve read the sonnet to himself - Tony watched him mouth some of the words in practice - and then spoke.

_Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_   
_Thou art more lovely and more temperate:_   
_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_   
_And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:_   
_Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,_   
_And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;_   
_And every fair from fair sometime declines,_   
_By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;_   
_But thy eternal summer shall not fade_   
_Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;_   
_Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,_   
_When in eternal lines to time thou growest:_   
_So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,_   
_So long lives this and this gives life to thee._

“Perfect,” Tony said. “You could give Patrick Stewart a run for his money.”

Steve collapsed onto the couch in wonder. “I never thought I’d do it.”

“I did,” Tony said, and Steve cast a look at him that said ‘sure, Jan’.

“Okay, not always,” Tony said with a chuckle as he sat next to Steve on the couch. “Definitely not in the beginning, but since that first Rangers game, yeah. I knew you’d get here.”

“That was a helluva good night,” Steve said, making his accent thick and syrupy. “And I’m quite glad we did it.” That phrase was, in contrast, crisp and clear.

“That you can switch back and forth…” Tony trailed off and shook his head. “You definitely don’t need me anymore.”

Steve froze next to Tony. “No, Tony, that’s not true.”

“It is,” Tony said. “I mean, I’ll manage your career and all the other things I told you, but truly, the next six weeks, you don’t need me. You’re ready.”

Steve shifted in his seat, as though the idea made him uncomfortable, which Tony chalked up to nerves. “Hey, listen, I’m not abandoning you or anything. We have other work to do, what projects do you want me to start talking up, that kind of thing. You just don’t need me 24/7 the way you did. You’re free, Rogers! Be excited!”

Steve smiled wanly. “I’m so tired I could sleep for those full six weeks, I think.”

Tony laughed. “Then text me the next time you’re awake. Go rest, Big Guy. You’ve earned it.”

* * *

How Tony got back to his room without a full blown panic attack, he’d never know. His skin was itchy, his soul was raw, and there were so many tears threatening his eyes he was blinking rapidly to keep them at bay.

His first reaction to Steve’s triumph had been pride. Unmitigated pride in the work the man had put in to get himself there - the hours and months of exercises and recitations. Tony felt like he was nearly going to bust with the vastness of Steve’s accomplishment.

That was rapidly followed by stark relief. The biggest hurdle to not marrying Ty was knocked down.

Then the one that settled over him like a wet blanket was panic. Steve didn’t need him anymore. With his ability to switch accents, Steve didn’t need to attach himself to Tony in any permanent way. He certainly didn’t need the constant attention Tony had been giving him, and Tony and lost all reason to spend so much time together. No more hockey nights under the guise of work, no more random texts throughout the day with things that made him think of Steve that he twisted to make sound like work, no more…

Tony’s breath left him.

He collapsed onto his couch - the very couch Steve had been only a short while ago - and sobbed. Heaving, stuttering breaths and wails that shook him for several minutes. He cried out of relief and out of grief.

He’d grown accustomed to Steve and now…

After he caught his breath fully again and wiped his snot and tears on his shirt, he fumbled for his phone.

WhatsApp: Pepper Rhodes

_Tony: He did it._

_Pepper: Who did what?_

_Pepper: OH._

_Pepper: DID STEVE SAY THE PHRASE?!?!?!?!_

_Tony: Flawlessly._

_Pepper: HOLY FUCK TONY_

_Tony: I know_

_Pepper: Holy fuck Tony_

_Tony: I know_

_Pepper: I’m on my way._

Tony started laughing. He knew he should not have been surprised that Pepper knew without him telling her the emotions he was feeling about the day. Not all of them, she didn’t know that he had feelings for Steve that were a little north of “appropriate for clients”. However, she did know that when clients he was fond of who had challenges had a victory, he felt torn and that he would never share those emotions with the client.

For years, those emotions went into bottles of vodka and nights grinding on random bodies in whatever club he could stumble into. They went into nights with faceless people who scratched an itch, and provided a distraction, and usually led to JARVIS pestering them to sign retroactive NDAs.

The night before Kerrigan’s fifth birthday had been one such night and he’d shown up quite hungover to her birthday. Kerrigan had never in her life seen a hungover adult, so she assumed Uncle Tony had the flu and tried to cancel her entire party so she could take care of him. The shame he felt at that was intense.

_“Pep, I’m so sorry,” he croaked from their guest bed._

_Pepper smiled gently and placed another wet washcloth on his forehead to help him cool down. “It’s fine. She needs to learn that she can’t help everyone all the time either, and you’re like this, what, once a year? It’s not a big deal.”_

_“More, but I usually don’t subject you to it,” Tony said._

_“Tony, your way of emotionally processing things is actually my living nightmare, but if it works for you -”_

_“It doesn’t,” Tony confessed. “I mean, I like dancing, I like going out, but when I do it for this… and when… I don’t like not remembering when I’m with other people.”_

_She was quiet for a minute. “So how about the next time you need to forget something, you do it with me and Rhodey, and we leave other people’s iPhones out of it?”_

He sighed heavily and roused himself off the couch to go make sure there were clean sheets on the guest bed. If Pep was on her way, he was going to need tissues, more alcohol, and snacks. Pepper never drank without snacks, and she never let him do forgetting nights without her. They’d get pretty drunk, he’d cry, she’d cry, and then they’d pass out around 4 or 5 in the morning. Rhodey would take care of Kerrigan, and Pepper would take care of Tony.

Family was lovely.

So he pulled up DoorDash on his phone and ordered Doritos, Kleenex, sour cream and onion chips, two bags of popcorn, a few bars of chocolate, and a can of nuts from Duane Reede. Might as well be prepared.

* * *

Meanwhile…

“SAY IT AGAIN,” Cressida screamed and her grin was so big on his phone screen that he couldn’t deny her.

Steve laughed. “She sells seashells by the sea shore.”

“You sound so fancy,” she said. “Estoy tan orgulloso de ti que podría reventar!”

“I’m pretty proud of me, too,” he said. He knew Cress was excited when she slipped Spanish into their conversations - it was like her tongue beat out her brain for who had more energy.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Right now? I’m talking to you,” he replied, swallowing a yawn.

She glared at him through the screen and he laughed. He’d called Cress first instead of Buck for a few reasons - but the main one was that she got it all in a way Bucky didn’t. This wasn’t his world. “Numbnuts, I’m asking what you’re going to do in general.”

He shrugged his left shoulder. “I still have to get ready for the gala, and we have the Vanity Fair party after the Oscars. Tony says there’ll be a bit of dancing at that one, so he has an instructor coming in to make sure I don’t look like an oaf.”

“Oh, let me know when that’s happening. I love dance lessons.”

He nodded. “Other than that? I feel like staying quiet a lot.”

Cressida laughed. “I doubt Stark will let you get away with that.”

A pain flashed in Steve’s chest at the mention of Tony’s name. You just don’t need me 24/7 the way you did. You’re free, Rogers! Be excited! Tony’s parting words had been tumbling around his brain since the other man left.

Mostly because Steve’s immediate mental response was ‘no, I still do’ and not because he needed help with his vowels.

“He says we won’t see each other as much,” Steve said with what he hoped was a casual shrug.

It was not.

Cressida peered at him. “And that bothers you.”

“No, I mean, obviously once the bulk of the work is done we don’t need to be around each other, and I mean, he obviously has other stuff to do, and obviously so do I.”

“Uh huh,” Cressida responded.

“I said obviously too much, didn’t I?”

“The third one tipped me, yeah,” Cressida said with a smile. “We gonna talk about it?”

“I don’t even know what it is,” Steve confessed. “I just know that the idea he won’t be here for hockey tomorrow is…”

“Then tell him,” Cressida said simply. “You guys are friends, ask him to watch the game.”

“Oh, no. I’m sure he -”

“If you say obviously, I’m getting in an Uber to hit you.”

Steve pursed his lips to hold back a laugh. “Nah.”

“You leaving it at that, then?” She asked. “You’re not going to ask him and all I’m getting is ‘nah’?”

“Yup.”

“You can speak good now, Rogers. Feel free to avail yourself of that skill.”

“I can speak well,” Steve corrected. “Superman does good, we do well.”

“Pedant.”

“Nag.”

“Idiot.”

“Never said otherwise,” Steve quipped and Cressida frowned. He was breaking the pattern and she wasn’t pleased.

“Steve-”

“Want to hear me say more things?”

She held silence for a few beats and then said yes. He entertained them both by trying out different accents for the next hour or so, which allowed Steve to ignore how empty his apartment felt without Tony.

* * *

Things after that night were…

Weird.

They were weird and Steve didn’t like it.

He’d tried to talk to Bucky about it, but he’d bungled the explanation when he realized that so many of the things he missed about Tony were things he’d never told Bucky in the first place. Plus, trying to explain “I just need to spend time with him” without sounding like he was into Tony never made sense when he said it out loud.

That’s where Cress always jumped, and she’d gotten Nat and Bucky on that train as well.

But he wasn’t into Tony, not that way.

He couldn’t be.

Tony was Tony - smart, and famous, and now already spending less time with Steve. It was obvious this feeling of craving time together wasn’t mutual, and Steve wasn’t into humiliating himself.

Tony did what Tony wanted, so if Tony wasn’t hanging out with Steve, it was because he didn’t need or want to.

But when he said as much to Amelia a week after The Night of Victory, she laughed so vociferously that she nearly lost her breath.

“He doesn’t want to be… oh, Steven. That is rich.”

“What?”

“Honestly, for a smart boy, you are a stubborn, obtuse, idiot sometimes,” she said, her voice full of affection. “You two deserve each other. Steve, he adores being with you, which is why he’s not here.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Steve said. He watched her return to chopping vegetables and then asked if she needed help. She pointed to the pasta roller and told him to roll her out some ravioli sheets.

“Steve, how many people in Tony’s life do you think need him?”

Steve considered that for a few minutes. “Pepper, and Rhodey -”

“You’re the only other one who calls him that,” Amelia interrupted. “Rhodey, that is. It’s the name his family uses, but everyone else calls him Jim. Tony tells everyone else that his name is Jim, but you get Rhodey stories.”

Steve stopped dead in his tracks, unsure of what to do with that information. “I’ll make sure to call him Jim if I ever meet him.”

She muttered something under her breath that sounded like ‘not what I meant’, but he ignored her and continued. “Kerrigan and you, I assume.”

“No,” Amelia corrected him. “None of us need him the way I’m talking about. We all want him. Who only needs him?”

“Ah,” he responded. “Everyone else. That’s the point you’re making.”

“Tony knows what it’s like to feel needed - he’s familiar with that and it’s actually fairly toxic for him,” Amelia supplied. “Thinner, the sheets need to be thinner.”

He frowned at the dough and started over.

“His father needed him, Ty needs him, _Us Weekly_ needs him. We want him. See what I mean?”

Steve did, but…

“Wait, he thinks I need him, and so now that I don’t in the way I did before I solved the puzzle, he’s…. But… But that’s not why… Does he think we only watched hockey together for work?” Steve asked.

“Did you watch it for another reason?” The look on Amelia’s face was smug and Steve rolled his eyes. “You know,” she continued, “for two men who spend all their time saying things out loud, you are both terrible at using those words.”

He was about to respond to that when the front door opened. “Hello?”

“We’re in the kitchen, Tony,” Amelia called. “Steve is embarrassingly bad at rolling pasta.”

“Hey!” Steve protested and looked up to see Tony smile as he approached. Tony was in what he’d told Steve once was his “business armor” - a three-piece suit with shined shoes and cufflinks that caught the light. Steve recognized the cut as Dolce & Gabana, but could not identify the funny feeling in his stomach upon seeing Tony in it.

“It’s all in the wrists, Stevarino,” Tony said. He took off his jacket, unbuttoned his cuffs, placed the cufflinks in his pocket, and rolled his shirtsleeves up.

Steve was illogically attracted to forearms.

“Show him, Tony,” Amelia said. “I’m working on a butternut squash with balsamic glaze stuffing and I want the pasta to stand up to it.”

“We make a pretty good team, Meels,” Tony said with a wink to Steve. “I think we can handle it.”

And that’s when Steve identified the feeling in his stomach.

Want.

He wanted Tony. He wanted Tony’s body, Tony’s brain, Tony’s…

Steve wanted Tony the way that Amelia talked about - as a friend, as a human, as someone he just genuinely enjoyed spending time with. But he also wanted Tony as more. He wanted to know what he tasted like, what he sounded like, if he had preferences, how Steve could make him happy. He _wanted_.

And he’d never be able to have.

Fuck his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and these idiots will see you on Friday for the Vanity Fair Oscars party... in which Ty makes an appearance.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the Vanity Fair Party! Or, in 'My Fair Lady' parlance - they're heading to Ascot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-iterate what I said in the last chapter - I know that words are so hard right now and I treasure every. single. comment. so much that even my loquaciousness cannot adequately express my gratitude. Your enthusiasm is just... wow, y'all. I'm so blessed.

_Six Weeks to the Met Gala_

“This cannot be your first time on a private plane,” Tony remarked.

Steve grinned. “And yet, it is.”

Tony was surprised. “Tom usually treats his faces better than that.”

Steve shrugged. “I usually wrangled a few days on my own in the cities after the shoots, so I could explore. Booking my own travel was easier.”

Tony snorted. “Just wait until you feel the difference when you wake up tomorrow in LA. Not breathing hyper-recycled air is really helpful for a good night’s sleep.”

Steve seemed to accept that and went back to staring out the window. Tony flipped through his emails, and fired rapid responses to the ones that could be handled that way, marked others for various PAs and assistants to respond to, and then concentrated on the handful that required his personal attention. Before he knew it, they were over Missouri and Steve was making himself a sandwich in the galley.

Tony knew that Steve was ready for the party. Vanity Fair invited so many people that talking was not the point - being seen was. If he was nervous and the original accent slipped out, it wouldn't really make an impact on most people there, since what happened at that party pretty much stayed at that party. Photos were allowed, audio recording was not.

The nerves in Tony’s belly, instead, were for the fact that he was about to have to share Steve. Since the hockey game, things between them had been… good. They were… friends? Maybe? Tony didn’t know what a male friend who wasn’t Rhodey felt like - he’d never had one. All he knew was that if he was having a bad day, Steve was someone he trusted to say that to.

He had no idea what to do with that information, but he knew it was true.

And now, the Hollywood Machine would get its first taste of the wonder that was Steve Rogers.

It was what Tony had worked tirelessly for.

So why wasn’t he more excited?

* * *

Steve had never seen so many tuxedos in his life. Even at Fashion Week and other large events he’d been a part of, there was usually fashion variety. Not so at the Vanity Fair Oscars Party. He stuck close to Tony, and tried frantically to memorize faces and names as they worked the crowd. Steve met people he’d grown up watching on the screen, and was proud of himself that he didn’t cry when he met Tom Hanks.

_“You okay, Steve?” Tony muttered as they walked away._

_“I just… he’s Tom Hanks. It’s kind of overwhelming.”_

_Tony smiled, and then clasped the back of Steve’s neck and drew him close. “Someday, you’re going to be someone’s Tom Hanks. You’re that good, Steve. I promise.”_

Steve’s feet didn’t touch the floor for a while after that.

In reality, he fought his nerves for most of the night. He was desperate to do Tony proud, and the few smiles Tony threw his way were wonderful and affirming, but it was… a lot. The whole night was a lot.

It was about midnight when he felt Tony stiffen next to him. In a breath, Tony went from relaxed and languid, to rigid and … terrified? All of Steve’s senses went on high alert, as he clocked a blond man with sharp features and a predatory smile heading their way.

“Tony!”

“Ty,” Tony said back, and there was a look on his face Steve had never seen there before.

Steve did not like the look.

Not one bit.

And then his brain registered the name Tony just said.

And his blood began to boil.

“And this must be the newest project,” Ty said, looking Steve up and down like he was an item in a catalogue. “He’s got the whole room buzzing.”

“Ty, this is Steve, Steve, this is Ty,” Tony said quickly.

Steve attempted to break Ty’s hand with the firmness of his handshake.

“Tony’s been telling me all about you,” Ty continued. “Sounds like you’ve got serious potential.”

“Ty, I believe you’re overstating our level of communication,” Tony said, and Steve wondered if he was the only one who could hear the growl in Tony’s voice.

“Nonsense,” Ty said. “It’s simply my future husband keeping me abreast of his job.”

Steve had a feeling Ty dropped that bomb because he figured Steve didn’t know about the bet. In his clearest diction, he replied. “Mr. Stone, I do not believe that’s the appropriate title for Tony, because I assure you that we will win the bet.”

Ty cocked an eyebrow and did a visual sweep of Steve’s body once again. “Well, Tony, I’ll give you credit for picking a fighter. Feel free to work out your wild oats on this one before I settle you down. Let me go grab us some drinks, and we’ll continue this conversation.”

Before Steve could actually maim the man, he walked away.

“So that was Ty,” Steve said slowly, because he had to control his vowels and not let his anger show.

“It was,” Tony confirmed.

“That’s the man you have to marry if I can’t make the grouchy lady smile?”

Tony snorted. “First of all, I know you know who Anna Wintour is, so I’m choosing to believe you’re being intentionally cute here. And if you make Anna smile, and I’ll build you a monument in Central Park. Hell, I’ll build you your own island in the bay, just like Lady Liberty. Anna smiles when Anna wants to smile and that’s it. No, pal, all you have to do is talk to her, and convince her that you’ve sounded like this all along.”

“The first one still seems easier,” Steve confessed.

Tony looked Steve up and down with a twinkle in his eye, which did to Steve’s insides what it always did. “I should have done a warm up act of getting you as People’s Sexiest Man Alive, because Christ knows you’d kill it. Anna smiles at people who sell magazines, and since you will soon, maybe you’re right. But the bet with Ty is the talky bit.”

Steve curled his fist in his pocket to keep from winding his fingers through Tony’s. “You’ll win, Tony. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s all up to you, big guy,” Tony said, and for the first time since they met, Steve heard the desperation behind the statement.

“Then we’ll win, Tony, because I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you never have to be alone with that man again, much less marry him.”

* * *

Tony was breathless, but knew there were eyes on them. He absolutely could not let on that he’d just fallen so hard for his client that there was a hole in the floor beneath them. The growl that had been in Steve’s tone when he’d made the vow had caused some of his diction to slip, and the in-between accent it created was the sexiest thing Tony had ever heard.

“Well, he’s coming back,” Tony said, miraculously finding his voice. “So look charming, Champ.”

Ty reappeared and Tony fought an eye roll. He took the glass of whiskey Ty offered - which he was sure was whatever was the most expensive looking, and not any of the ones Ty knew Tony actually enjoyed - and addressed Ty directly.

“Your reading of our situation is misinformed, Tyberius,” Tony drawled casually. “Instead, I should be asking if you are getting your contact list ready to be transferred?”

“He’s convinced exactly three people that he can speak like a human and not a neanderthal, Anthony, let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Ty drawled, and Tony felt Steve’s energy shift. “You are not nearly as good as you think you are, or that you’ve convinced the town you are, so instead I have been preparing our engagement announcement. I’m sure we’ll lead The Times with it.”

One minute, Steve was relaxed but alert, and the next he had taken two steps into Ty’s space and was staring the smaller man down like he was dirt under Steve’s shoe.

“He,” Steve growled, but a different growl than the one he gave Tony, and Tony wondered briefly if there was a taxonomy of Steve Rogers Growls and what one he’d make when someone was blowing him, and THAT line of thinking had to stop immediately, “is a human being here before you with a name, so if you would be so kind to use it.”

“Tony, your pet is embarrassing himself,” Ty replied, without breaking eye contact with Steve. Before Tony could react, Steve’s hands were in Ty’s lapels.

“You listen carefully, you unmitigated sack of shit.” Steve’s accent was back in full force, and Tony had sworn up and down prior to that moment that Steve’s natural voice was hideous.

And yet, in this moment? It was basically the hottest thing Tony had ever heard.

“Tony is a genius. You know it, I know it, the world knows it. What I can’t figure out is why that scares you so much that you’d lash out at him like a first grader on a playground pretending that snobbery is power. He has changed my life in the last three months, and he’ll change it again tomorrow, and the next day, and you will remain nothing more than a succubus who leeches power from people instead of doing the work to be important yourself.” With that, Steve snapped Ty away from him, and turned to Tony with fire in his eyes. “Tony, I’m sure we have somewhere else to be.”

Tony found his voice quickly. “We do indeed, Steve, thank you for reminding me. I promised Tom’s team ten minutes for photos.”

They swiftly made their way away from Ty. “So that was -”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve cut him off softly. He stopped walking for a second, and then cast his eyes about the room. Tony had no idea what was happening as Steve pulled them towards a Christmas tree set off to the side of the main ballroom. “I’m sure that’ll end up on Page Six or something tomorrow, and I’m sorry, but he does not get to talk about you that way.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “Me? He talks about me like that all the time, it’s nothing. That was all for me?”

Steve’s brow crinkled. “You think I ain’t been called a sack of shit before? It was my dad’s favorite phrase, and I’m pretty used to it. How people talk about me don’t bother me, never has. But no one talks about my friends the way that motherfucker was.”

“Oh, you’re full Brooklyn now,” Tony teased, because if he investigated anything Steve had just said, he may have disintegrated from an overload of feelings.

“I’m always full Brooklyn, Tony,” Steve said. The growly tone was back - the first one, not the violent one - and Tony swallowed. “You’re just teaching me when I can let it out, when I have to be Manhattan.”

They held eye contact for a few more beats, before it was broken by Tony’s phone buzzing. He pulled it out of his coat pocket, and read the text.

“Twitter has it,” Tony reported. “Not what you said, but that you had Ty by the lapels, and that you’re the face of Tom and Christian’s bridal collab. They’re tagging Cressida in the posts, along with Christian and Tom.”

“Fuck,” Steve swore. “Fuck a duck, I’m sorry, I just blacked out, basically, and I -”

“I’ll handle it,” Tony said. “It’s my job, and like you said, I’m really good at it. Which is why I know that right now, you have to find one of the following three actresses and dance with them. Emma Stone, Helen Mirren, or…” Tony paused and flipped through his mental rolodex of who he had already seen, “Rachel McAdams. All scandal-free and thought of as classy, plus the right height for you to seem manly in the heteronormative nonsense land we live in, and you need that visual right now.”

Steve nodded, straightened his tie, and started to walk away. Tony reached out and grabbed his wrist. Steve turned back with a quizzical look on his face.

“Thank you,” Tony said. “What you said…. Thank you.”

“Meant every word, Tony,” Steve said with a smile, and then strode off.

“First you fix the crisis, Stark,” Tony muttered to himself, “and then you can go react to all of that in the privacy of a bathroom stall.”

* * *

_WhatsApp: BlockParty_

_Steve: Homesfae_

_Nat: is that ‘home safe’ but drunk?_

_Steve: y_

_Bucky: lol_

_Bucky: you’re gone, pal_

_Nat: did you just get home? Jesus, it’s 4am there._

_Steve squinted at his phone, and then tried to fight through the mental fog._

_Steve: napped?_

_Cressida: you’re at stark’s? Did you nap alone?_

_Steve: shudup, c_

_Sam: is emma stone as pretty in person?_

_Steve: didnt notice_

_Sam: Dude, you must be really drunk. I know you like dudes and all, but you usually appreciate a pretty lady._

“Well, not if the hottest man in the world is staring me down the whole time and I spent all my energy trying not to leave her and grab Tony,” Steve muttered to his phone as he wrestled his tuxedo off. From its state of disarray, he’d already slept in it for a little bit. He spied the water next to his bedside and thanked Past Steve for putting it there.

_Cressida: JustJared and the Fug Girls both have a ton of snaps of you_

_Cressida: I particularly like the one where it looks like you’re staring at Stark’s ass when you’re supposed to be chatting with Helen Mirren._

_Nat: it’s a good ass_

_Bucky: hey_

_Nat: yours is fine, too_

_Bucky: thanks, baby_

_Cressida: Steve, can you confirm stark’s ass is good?_

“No,” he said. He knew he sounded grumpy, but that was because he felt grumpy. He’d spent so much of the night a completely nervous wreck before all the junk with Ty, that once he’d finished the dance with the incredibly charming Ms Stone, he’d gotten very, very drunk.

He’d gotten so drunk that he almost told Tony that the worst part of the night was imagining Tony with someone else.

Now, he was poured into a guest bedroom high in the Hollywood Hills. It was Tony’s West Coast house - because of course there were multiple houses - and it was…

Pretentious as fuck.

It’s exactly where Steve would have assumed Tony lived months ago. But that was before… everything. That was before Steve knew that Tony was actually most comfortable in sweatpants that were only washed because Amelia made sure they were, passed out on a couch that would look completely out of place in a billionaire’s house. Before he knew that while Tony could identify the quality of the beef he was served by just smelling it, his absolute favorite burger was from a place on 8th that barely had a name, much less a Zagat rating.

Before he knew about Howard.

Before he knew about Ty.

Thinking of Ty made Steve groan. God, he had put his foot in it last night. He knew he shouldn’t have grabbed the cretin. He knew there was going to be fallout.

He didn’t have any clear memories between leaving the party and finding his phone to text the group chat that he’d muted earlier because they would not shut up. He had flashes - Tony’s smile, Tony’s laugh, Tony’s smell, Tony’s hands guiding him into the guest room.

His tongue was numb and his lips were tingly. He tapped them absentmindedly, trying to recall why they’d be tingly. Vodka didn’t make him tingly.

He stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He was sweaty and nauseated, and a shower had been one of his hangover cures since he’d been getting hangovers.

HIs brain was clearing - somewhat - and he decided that was a good plan. He’d shower, he’d drink the water from Past Steve, and then he’d put on a podcast and drift back to sleep. None of those activities involved fixating on Tony, or on trying to decide if the visuals in his head were dreams or memories.

Especially because he couldn’t decide which one he wanted them to be.

* * *

Tony’s hands shook slightly as he put the pod in the Keurig. He’d done lots and lots of morning afters before - with men whose names he could not remember, people whose genders had been unclear, women who took blackmail photos to try to force him into an engagement. He’d done morning afters with people whose company he had enjoyed, but both parties knew they were single serving friends and that the time was up.

He’d done morning afters with Ty, with Skippy, with Teegan…

In summary; he’d never done a morning after with someone who didn’t play games. Even in the heights of his love/lust/infatuation with boyfriends and girlfriends, he’d never been nervous the way he was this morning.

And all Steve had done was kiss him goodnight.

It was a terrible kiss.

Truly.

It was drunk and slobbery, and he could tell Steve wouldn’t remember it. It was also promptly followed by Steve vomiting in the kitchen sink, so there was nothing romantic about any of it. He’d then helped Steve into the guest room with the best shower - Tony knew about Steve’s penchant for hangover showers - and put a glass of water by his bed.

He’d then proceeded to go to his room, stared at the wall for far too long, and then had JARVIS open Steve’s files and got to work. He’d never really been tipsy, but even if he was on his way there before Steve manhandled Ty, he’d made sure to switch to sparkling water or ginger ale. Steve’s agent needed to be on his A game, and Future Movie Star Steve Rogers didn’t need Tony mooning over him like a teenager while he was also protecting his career.

_Getting Steve into the limo hadn’t been hard, but keeping him quiet on the ride had been._

_“Tony, I would do it again, you know,” Steve slurred, his voice soft and clumsy from too many vodka tonics and the lack of adrenaline in his system. “I’d beat Ty so good no one would recognize him.”_

_“You are going to beat him, Steve, when we win the bet,” Tony replied, grateful their driver for the night was one of his oldest employees. Stavros wouldn’t leak any of this to anyone, not even his own wife._

_“No!” Drunk Steve was insistent. He said the word several more times and then waved his finger in Tony’s face. “No, I mean with my fists. He doesn’t get to say those things about you.”_

_Tony’s gut flipped and if he didn’t change the subject immediately… “Steve, Ty has been saying those things for most of our lives together. It’s fine.”_

_“It’s NOT,” Steve roared. Tony winced at the volume, or maybe at the passion. He wasn’t sure. “It’s not okay, Tony! You are so wonderful, so incredible, so… he’s wrong. He’s WRONG and he should sit in his wrongness and be wrong!”_

_“Okay, Abby Bartlet, we gotta get you to bed.”_

_“You coming?”_

_Tony’s heart beat so fast that he thought it might jump out of his chest. Sure, they’d both stopped sniping at each other weeks ago, and had settled into something that looked like friendship, but surely…_

_Steve couldn’t mean…_

_“Ask me again when you’re sober, handsome,” Tony quipped. Hoping it would put an end to everything._

_“I was gonna wait until the smile,” Steve said. “We get the smile, I get the fella. I was hoping.”_

_Tony closed his eyes and counted to ten, but before he could fully respond, Stavros announced they were at the house. Steve tripped out of the car, and giggled his way up the stairs. Once Tony got them to the kitchen, Steve turned and kissed him. “Smile then fella.”_

The issue was that Tony had spent most of the party trying not to swallow his tongue in how good Steve looked all night. Not just his physical body in the tux, but how well he was doing in this world. All the industry gossip was that Steve Rogers skipped galas unless he was ordered to be there by the house he was repping, that he never did the rounds at parties, and that if he did, he didn’t drink.

So when he ordered the fourth vodka tonic, Tony had wondered what was up. He’d seen the feral look in Steve eyes a few times, the one he got when he was scared and trying to hide it, and Tony had just made sure to reassure the other man that he was doing great. He’d direct them to a group of people Tony knew were safe and watch Steve turn on the charm and genuine kindness that were his brand.

The night had been an unmitigated success, and Tony had already dropped Steve’s name to two casting agents that had approached him, but then Ty showed up.

Nearly every terrible thing in Tony’s life was connected somehow to the phrase “and then Ty showed up”, so why would last night have been any different?

His reverie was interrupted by a groan followed by footsteps. Steve padded into the kitchen looking simultaneously like the hottest of messes and tastiest of snacks, and Tony focused on preparing his coffee.

“Morning sunshine,” Tony chirped.

“How are you chipper?” Steve grumbled.

“I didn’t drink Meatloaf’s body weight in vodka last night,” Tony explained. “I know the shower thing for a hangover, what else?”

“Coffee and toast,” Steve replied and slumped into a kitchen chair.

Now or never, Tony told himself as he popped some bread into the toaster. “What do you remember from last night?”

“Not a lot after the dance with Emma,” Steve confessed. “I know I talked to a Kardashian -”

“Khloe.”

“- and maybe an Olson?”

“No, not with me anyway.”

“Yeah, then I remember waking up around 4 still in my tux and smelling like a distillery, so I showered.”

And I’m not filling in any gaps, Tony replied internally. Externally, he said, “well, the jet leaves whenever we want, so you can go back to sleep if you need to.”

“Let me get some toast in me,” Steve said, “and I’ll let you know. Oh, and Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for getting me home safe.”

“All part of the service around here,” Tony quipped. The toaster popped, and he grabbed the toast, put it onto a plate, and delivered it to Steve. “Butter? Jam? Some sort of disgusting yeast spread I have to pretend to tolerate whenever I go to Australia?”

“Wow, those are some strong Vegemite feelings,” Steve said. “Butter is fine.”

Tony retrieved some from the fridge. When he put it on the table in front of Steve, Steve grabbed his wrist to get his attention. “Tony, thank you.”

Tony met Steve’s eyes and saw an emotion there he wasn’t sure he could describe. Earnest was as close as he could get, though, so he decided to match it for a brief moment. “You’re welcome, Steve. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

Steve let go of Tony’s wrist and began to butter his bread. Tony returned to his coffee cup and scrambled his brain to find a topic to talk about that wasn’t either “so you kissed me, what was with that?” or “I have to scramble for some damage control because Ty can’t keep his mouth shut”. The former was never going to get said and the latter needed more of Steve’s synapses firing than currently were.

“I fucked it a little last night,” Steve said between bites and Tony laughed.

“A little, but not too much.”

“Can we fix it?”

Tony snorted. “Please, Steve. I won’t even dignify that with a response. It’ll be a little messy, but right now, let’s focus on getting back to New York without you hurling all over my plane.”

Steve blanched. “I threw up somewhere that wasn’t a toilet, didn’t I? Fuck, I do that sometimes. Please tell me I at least hit a potted plant.”

“Kitchen sink,” Tony said, “but I’ll start carrying potted plants around.”

Steve chuckled. “Sorry again.”

“It was nothing, Steve,” Tony assured him. “Both as your agent and your friend.”

“Friend?”

 _I ain’t using that other ‘f’ word you used last night, pal._ “That okay?”

Something passed over Steve’s face, but he rearranged it quickly into a smile. “Of course. Friend. Anyway, thanks.”

“Pleasure. Eat your toast, before we both have to eat some crow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh duuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh. See you on Wednesday for some crow eating.
> 
> Also, I tried to get "move your blooming arse" in there, I swear I did, but I hope that Steve threatening Ty within an inch of his life is comparable energy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony helps Steve eat some crow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HT, Moody, and Jeh gave some _expert_ level cheering on this and to them I pledge my eternal love. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who uses spoons to tell me what you're digging about this tale. We're inching closer to the Met Gala, folks, but I've got some fireworks going off before then.

“No, Alex, I promise he’s bankable,” Tony said, leaning across the table and piercing the casting agent with his eyes. “That was a personal blip -”

“Rumor has it he’s real defensive of you, Stark,” Alex said, a smug look on his face. “You got something on the side there?”

Tony fought to keep his face passive. Alex Reynolds was one of the most influential casting directors for day shoots in New York City. You wanted to be a day player on Gossip Girl or whatever, you went through Alex as the local rep for the shows. He was a manipulative, creepy-as-fuck sonofabitch that no one liked but everyone revered.

Hollywood was a wasteland.

“I got an up and comer, Alex, that you want to be in on the ground floor of,” Tony replied smoothly. “We both know Ty-”

“You better than me,” Alex smirked.

 _The homophobia can take a fucking break, Alex._ “And Ty has a way of worming under people’s skins when he wants to. He pushed some of Rogers’ buttons that Rogers didn’t even know he had, and he wasn’t prepared. Keep Tyberius off your sets, and he’ll be perfect.”

“He certainly looks perfect,” Alex said, returning to the folder at his side. In it, Tony had put all of Steve’s relevant data and a few assorted headshots. As Alex flipped through it, Tony took a few more bites of his salad and tried to read the man’s expression. “When is he free for booking?”

“For a day rate? Immediately, but for longer term things, we’ll need to negotiate.”

Alex nodded, his expression pensive. “He’s not right for anything I have in the next two or three months, at least not right now. There’s an indie movie a friend of mine is casting -”

“Indie” and “friend” coming out of Alex’s mouth probably means porn. “He won’t do full nudes, Alex. It’s right there in his stat sheet.”

“I know indie directors who don’t do cock shots, Stark.”

 _Coulda fooled me._ “Just wanted everything in the open.”

“This one’s a tragic AIDS thing, trying to highlight that AIDS is something people still die from. I think your boy would be right for one of the friends. Can he come in next week?”

“Send me the script and I’ll see,” Tony replied, trying to contain his excitement. Even if the movie was completely a wrong fit, even if Steve decided not to touch it with a ten foot pole covered in Tabasco - it was a script. Steve’s first script.

They talked other business for a little while - Alex wanted some dirt on two of CW’s clients that Tony was loath to provide, Tony wanted to get Alex to donate some money to a mental health charity he was heading to a gala for that night. Once the meal was over, Tony stood and buttoned his jacket.

“Alex, the script in my box by end of day, and I’ll get you an advance look at Sheila Anderson’s booking book,” Tony said, throwing down his trump card. A promise to send a script was not an actual script in an actual inbox, and Tony had played this game a few too many times with Alex.

Alex’s eyes flashed. The South African ingenue was on everyone’s list, and Tony was controlling her book with an iron fist. He nodded once, and Tony was satisfied the deal was made.

He hustled down 6th Avenue towards his next meeting, wondering if the phone pointed at him from across the street meant a photo would show up in Just Jared within a few minutes. Or - shudder to think - deuxmoi. He made a mental note to double check Steve’s wardrobe order for the spring season. If they were going to make this work, he had to be on brand at all times. No runs to Trader Joe’s in sweatpants for Steve Rogers, no matter how hard Steve fought him on it.

Tony smiled to himself at how far Steve had come in that department, though. He’d begun to understand the currency of his presence somewhere - that his time was worth more doing other things, and there were people who were thrilled to run errands for him if it meant a generous paycheck. Steve even admitted the week before that having Amelia manage the apartment was one of the best parts of his life.

His phone buzzed, and he checked his watch quickly to see who it was. “Speaking of. Meels, what’s up?”

“There’s four photographers, I think, maybe only three, one might be a tourist. Anyway, they’re all sitting at Pret pretending to read and drink coffee, but they’re not,” Amelia reported.

“Jesus, all he did was grab the lapels of someone everyone hates,” Tony groaned. “Literally it. Then he danced a bit -” Tony stopped himself. “Oh god, do they think he’s dating Emma now?”

Amelia laughed. “Probably. You know that town. A single person was in breathing proximity to another single person, they must be knocking boots.”

“I do so love when you use euphemisms from John Wayne movies,” Tony quipped.

“He has to get to the dermatologist,” Amelia responded. “Do you want me to have him walk like he was going to or get a car?”

Tony did a quick calculation in his head as he heard Steve yell in the background. “It’s eight blocks, and I have working legs. Let them take the fucking photos.”

“Put him on,” Tony said and there was a shuffle as Amelia passed the phone.

“Am I on house arrest or something?” Steve growled into the phone.

“We’re in damage control,” Tony replied. “Ty got out ahead of us with his narrative that you’re a bully, and because the New York modeling world and Los Angeles casting agents aren’t WhatsApp pals, we’ve had to do some work.”

“What about any of that means I can’t walk eight fucking blocks to get my mole check?”

Tony sighed. Steve both completely had a point and was being a pain in the ass. Which, he supposed, was the summary of Steve Rogers. “Nothing. Just wear something from the closet in the blue room, and put your headphones in so if they yell it doesn’t even register on your face as you ignore them.”

He could nearly hear Steve’s wince. “Tuesday wasn’t great.”

“It was not, but we’re fixing it,” Tony said smoothly. “I’m at my thing for Maddie, go make sure you don’t have cancer.”

“Anything from the blue closet?”

“It’s 40 degrees, so I’d recommend something from the fall slash winter end, but if you’re feeling shorts, let the Spirit guide you,” Tony replied.

“I’m flipping you off right now,” Steve said.

“As long as you don’t flip off TMZ, sugar, I don’t care,” Tony said with a chuckle and hung up. A text immediately came through

_Steve: I’m antsy. Sorry I’m also being an ass._

_Tony: You’re on two strikes with them, so we gotta do something that makes them forget both._

_Steve: LA and Tuesday?_

_Tony: I know the kid was being homophobic, but you got caught on snap._

_Steve: Heavily edited snap._

_Tony: Just… do not engage for the next four days with anyone you haven’t already hugged, okay?_

_Steve: Specific boundary._

_Tony: I was gonna make a sex joke, but Meels would kill me_

_Steve: Wise_

_Tony: I have to go deal with Disney Channel now_

_Steve: Don’t say fuck too much_

_Tony: The impossible things you ask of me_

Tony smirked slightly, hit the ‘do not disturb’ button and walked into the office. He greeted the assistant warmly and then saw his client, and tried to ignore the idea of what response would be waiting for him when he turned his phone back on.

* * *

_One Month to the Gala_

“So you’re serious?”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, a sign that Steve had learned meant that in another life, Tony would have blasted him into the next room for being on his last nerve. “Steven, I told you I wanted to meet with her. I asked you for her number. As I am not currently in the market for a girlfriend, I hoped you would read between the lines.”

Steve blushed. “Sorry, it’s just…”

“She’s Cressida, I get it,” Tony said. “She’s your work spouse, we all have those.”

“I don’t want you taking the meeting out of pity or a favor or something,” Steve muttered, finally confessing his fear. “If you’re meeting with Cress -”

“Oh, is that it?” Tony said with wide eyes. “Steve, no, I don’t humor anyone. I’m a fucking asshole with standards higher than Everest. If I was just doing you a favor, I would have pawned her off onto an associate.”

Steve was quiet for a minute. “Nat and Bucky, they’re family forever, right? But they don’t get this world. They don’t want to get this world. They think this world is ridiculous, and I can tell they’re often just polite to me when I talk about it. But Cress…”

“Stevo, I think she has what it takes, and I’ll have Sheridan make an appointment with her this week,” Tony said calmly. “I would now like to talk about another career, if we can.”

Steve blinked a few times. “You cannot seriously be considering taking on Phillip. I know you-”

“Seriously, how did you manage to learn a whole other dialect,” Tony said with a laugh. “You are the stupidest smart person I know. You, you numbskull. I want to talk about your career.”

“Oh,” Steve said, slightly sheepish, which sent Tony into giggles, which sent Steve into giggles, and it took both of them several minutes to control themselves.

It was one month to the day of the Met Gala. The theme that year was “Fashion and the Catholic Imagination”, which everyone was interpreting as “Saints and Sinners”. Tony had commissioned Atelier Versace to create a look for each of them, with Tony as a saint and Steve as a sinner, for reasons Tony said he’d explain once they got the costumes. Steve had yet to see even a sketch of the design - he’d sat through fittings of white suits, though - and was choosing not to be nervous.

Which was a choice.

The pair were in Tony’s living room - in the workshop that paraded as an apartment. Amelia had sent Steve up with a pot of fesenjan, which was a stew that involved pomegranate seeds, and some flatbread that had all lasted approximately fifteen minutes after Steve arrived.

_“You come bearing Amelia food,” Tony said, with wonder in his voice._

_“I haven’t seen you in a few days, and she said it was her turn to feed and water you and rotate you towards the sun,” Steve replied, making his way through the mess to the kitchen._

_“And she abdicated to you? Coward.”_

_Steve turned to see Tony coming towards him. He was scruffy and rumpled, like he’d just woken from a nap, but Steve knew if there had been one, it was on the sofa at best. JARVIS only intervened when Tony was on an inventing binge that lasted longer than 72 hours, and Amelia had begun to cook at JARVIS’ command._

_“What’s got you so distracted you smell like a middle school locker room?”_

_Tony sniffed himself and made a face. “Well, I’ll be fixing that now that you’ve pointed it out. I have a theory about language acquisition for refugees that I wanted to test out. Been fucking around with some coding for a few days, nothing major.”_

_Steve knew there was at least seven hours of a story behind that comment, but he also knew if he asked a question, he’d get all seven hours with the orifcatory tragedy currently happening. “Shower, then food, then you’re going to tell me what the fuck you mean.”_

_Tony saluted, turned, and walked towards his bathroom. He stripped off his shirt as he went and Steve nearly dropped the pot he was holding._

“It’s awful late, Tony,” Steve hedged.

“It’s 9:30,” Tony replied dryly. “I’ve showered, I’ve been fed - both while smelling like an adult human and not a cryptid, I may add - and now I wish to discuss business.”

“Boundaries?”

“Is that a question or a protest, because we have one month before you’re allowed to force me to respect your time,” Tony said, with a smirk on his face and a laugh in his tone.

 _I can’t focus on anything but the idea that in one month it will be all boundaries, and none of this anymore. I get her to smile and I lose you like this, and I just want to savor every moment I can,_ Steve thought. Outloud, he said, “Neither. Both. Whatever. Just tell me.”

Tony snorted. “Acting class. It’s time to get that going. I just need to know if you want a coach or a class.”

Steve considered this. “I’d think I need to get used to acting with other people, so a class might be better.”

Tony shook his head. “An acting coach will bring other people with them if needed, or you just do scenes with them. Hell, I’ve been a quote-unquote extra for some of my clients. The question is if you’re ready for that much focused attention or if you want to ease in.”

Steve was shocked. “You’re giving me a chance to ease in to something? Tony ‘I Never Met a Month Long Problem I Didn’t Solve in Three Days’ Stark?”

“My middle name is Edward,” Tony said primly and Steve threw a pillow at him.

Tony caught it with a laugh. “I’m honestly not ever sure what acting classes or coaches do - there’s a lot of work to acting, but everyone has their own method. I figure we should start you with two classic options, but I know a load of actors who learn more from just hanging out with people and learning empathy than they do from classes.”

Steve considered this. No one taught him how to walk on a runway - he just watched a lot of other people and learned to hold his body like they held theirs. But an acting coach might help him think of things he hadn’t… A class sounded like a nightmare, even though he only had old episodes of Friends to base that off of.

“Coach,” he said slowly. “Let’s try that.”

Tony nodded. “I have seven scripts for you now, so you’ll have material to work with.”

“You gonna let me read any of them?”

Tony shook his head. “They’re all garbage and not the right fit for you.”

“And I don’t get a say in that?”

“Not yet,” Tony said calmly and Steve growled.

They’d had this fight a handful of times. Tony would mention he took a meeting and Steve would ask questions and Tony would say he didn’t need to know yet. It was always about Tony making sure what came to Steve was good, Steve got that, but at some point he’d have to choose for himself, right?

“Tony, how am I going to learn what’s good and what’s bad if you don’t ever let me see?”

Tony peered at him. “Right now, everything you’re getting is bad, because you’re entirely unproven. Well, it’s either bad or it’s porn.”

“No porn.”

“I know, Big Guy, we talked about that. That is a boundary I respect,” Tony said with a smirk.

Something flashed in Tony’s eyes and Steve couldn’t place it, but something flickered in his gut. “Not that I couldn’t do it.”

“Of course not,” Tony said, his eyes roving lazily up and down Steve’s body. “I’m sure those hips don’t lie.”

“I almost did a Magic Mike show back in the day for some cash,” Steve replied, his voice low.

“I would have liked to see that.” Tony’s voice was a whisper and whatever was happening between them had to stop, Steve knew it had to stop.

And yet, instead of stopping, he wanted it to keep going.

He didn’t know what it was, but it needed to never end.

Thankfully, Tony snapped them out of it. “Well, the porn offers you’re getting are better scripts than the movies, so just trust me and we’ll wait until something is worth your while to audition for.”

“But what if -”

“Steven, do you trust me?”

The question was heavy, and the air around the two of them matched it. Tony asked Steve that question on a regular basis, and it never felt flippant, but tonight it felt …. More.

“Yes, Tony, I trust you,” Steve said resolutely.

“Then you keep those hips limber in case we go a Magic Mike route, and let me read the garbage that the NYU film students are putting out these days. Agreed?”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “Agreed.”

* * *

“Pep, he made jokes about lap dances and I nearly climbed into his lap myself,” Tony groaned.

There was no answer from Pepper’s end of the couch, so Tony lifted his head to peer at his best friend. “Virginia.”

“Oh,” she startled. “Sorry, I was imagining Steve in one of those shows and I got lost in that dream.”

“Oh, I need breadcrumbs to leave that dream every morning now,” Tony said.

She giggled. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Tony said, flopping his head back down on the cushion and addressing the ceiling. “We have about three weeks before the bet is over, and then our contract flips, and I become his employee. Maybe my thirst for him will drive me to negotiate even harder for him.”

“Sure,” Pepper replied.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I do not,” Pepper confirmed.

He kicked her and grabbed his phone. “Your husband will agree with me.”

“My husband is in Kandahar,” Pepper said firmly.

“What? He told me he was in Berlin this week.”

“They needed him this morning. Your thirst does not warrant a call to Kandahar.”

Tony pouted. “It does not.”

“You’re stuck with me, kid,” Pepper replied. She grabbed the remote. “Oh, look, Netflix has Magic Mike XXL.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you on Friday for a game of Fuck, Marry, Kill, and Bucky and Nat's baby makes her grand entrance.


End file.
